To the Sheer Love of Madness
by Winnett
Summary: Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were gone. Unfortunately, Harry Potter's mind was gone as well. Written for HD Worldcup, Team EWE, Prompt Hermit. HarryxDraco


**Title: To the Sheer Love of Madness**

**Author: winnett**

**Wordcount: 23,000**

**Rating: R**

**Warnings: None**

**Summary: **Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were gone. Unfortunately, Harry Potter's mind was gone as well.

**Author's Note: **Written for the HD World cup, Team EWE, Prompt Hermit. The Hermit signifies that each person must find his own way and own truth, governing the search for self and identity. Thanks so my amazing betas: NK, KF, tehrin, serenitysmiles, megyal and members of Team EWE!

……………………**.**

_**I would rather be ashes than dust!**__  
__**I would rather that my spark should burn out**__  
__** in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.**__  
__**I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom**__  
__** of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.**__  
__**The function of man is to live, not to exist.**__  
__**I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.**__  
__**I shall use my time. **_

_**Jack London**_

"Is that Draco Malfoy?"

"What? The Minister's son? No. It couldn't be him. I can't imagine he would be _here_. He hasn't surfaced in years."

"But look at him… the hair, that nose. I wonder if his left arm is really his own?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you can't help but hear the rumours. He had it replaced with gold after it was destroyed by the Aurors. And I hear his wand is made of iron and he rides a tamed dragon, too!"

"Sure, and he's seven feet tall and sneezes fireballs. Right. That isn't Malfoy. No way he would show his face like this."

Draco Malfoy, head held high, marched through Diagon Alley, dismissing the whispers and curious looks. To his left one witch pulled her child out of the road and they huddled in the shade of the entrance to Quality Quidditch Supplies as the murmured words 'The Dissident' filled the air.

He hadn't been here in years; he hadn't needed to.

"Should we call the Aurors?"

"He doesn't look violent."

"But you know what they say!"

"Yes, yes. I know he took out a city block in Toulouse, but he… he's just walking through. Does he seem a threat to you?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm Flooing the Aurors."

He didn't want any trouble, but he wasn't going to hide anymore, either. Years of guerrilla warfare had made little progress towards his overall goal. It was time to amputate the black heart of the wizarding world, not just poke at its extremities.

"Mum, is that man going to hurt us?"

"Come on, Nicholas. We're leaving."

His long coat fluttered against his calves as his advancing strides parted the gathering crowd, separating the onlookers like a Merlin's Day Parade. It was a warm, early May afternoon and the Alley was packed.

"What do you think he's doing here?"

A small trail of people followed behind him from a distance.

"Maybe he's here to destroy Gringotts like he did his family's manor. I hear he petitioned the goblins to pull support from the Ministry."

"What? Really? Why would the goblins do that? Has he really lost his mind?"

The few grew to many and soon he had an entourage accompanying him as he finally faced Ollivander's Wand Shop. A smaller sign below the usual "Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." read "Assistant Luna Lovegood." He stared at the sign in disquiet, remembering the last time he'd seen Lovegood. A bell tinkled as he opened the door and stepped into the dim interior, leaving the gawkers on the sunshine baked street.

"Hello, Draco," came the airy voice from the back of the shop. A few moments later Luna Lovegood, resplendent in a canary yellow dress with a feathered hat, emerged from the rows and rows of boxes organized on shelves. The shop looked the same to Draco as it had twenty-five years ago when he'd come to get his very first wand. The only difference was that dust was no longer layered inches thick over every horizontal surface; in fact, the shop was sparkling clean. "What can I do for you today?" Lovegood asked with a peculiar smile.

"I need a new wand," Draco said, and he placed his current wand on the counter. His cold eyes watched for any sign of enmity.

Ignoring him, Lovegood tilted her head and looked down at his wand. She reached out and ran her index finger along the length of it. Draco noted many strings tied around her fingers: twine, yarn, one even of some thin, silver metal. "Nine and a half inches, rowan wood, unicorn hair core." She picked it up, flicked it a few times and then placed it back on the counter. "A bit stiff." She clicked her tongue as she shook her head. "This isn't right. All wrong, in fact. One moment please." She whirled around, her dress flaring out like ruffled wings, and skipped away down one row.

Draco remained in the front of the shop watching her go, and then looked down at his rowan wand. It had been an adequate wand, but it never worked for him the way his old hawthorn had, the one that Potter had taken from him. He'd decided months ago when he first considered leaving his seclusion, that his first act would be to get a new wand.

"Here we go," Lovegood announced. "Why don't you try one of these?" She placed a pile of long, slim boxes on the counter and pulled the lid off the first one, taking out a dark coloured wand. Draco picked it up and flicked it. There were a few sparks, but Lovegood snatched it from his grip saying "Oh, not that one," and handed him another. The second wand was long and tapered to a thin tip. He flicked it, achieved some sparks with this one as well, but it was too willowy, delicate even, and he looked dubiously up at his old classmate.

"No." He shook his head.

"Agreed," said Lovegood. Then she pulled the top off of a third box and said, "Try this."

Draco looked down at the wand. It was light in colour and something about it drew him to touch it. He picked it up in his right hand and swished it through the air, producing a rainbow of sparkles. Tension he hadn't known was resting in his muscles eased.

"Birch, ten and a quarter inches, kelpie hair core." She grew quiet for a moment, staring down at the wand in Draco's hand. Then her head snapped up to look at him and she smiled. "I made that one."

With reluctance Draco flicked the wand once more and the magic flowed through it again; he couldn't deny how right it felt in his hand. Subtle and flexible, but firm enough to still feel solid in his grasp. Perhaps there was something oddly fitting that the purchase of a Lovegood wand was one of the first things he did on his return from the barrens.

"Thank you," Draco said, still contemplating the wand in his hand.

"That will be seven Galleons, please." Lovegood held out her hand. Draco pulled out his purse and placed the coins on the table, careful to avoid touching her.

"Don't you care that I'm here, buying a wand from you?" Draco tended to avoid such questions. It was no mystery what the masses thought about him; his father did everything possible to spin his actions into those of a terrorist.

"Ooh," Lovegood drew out the sound, her voice high and airy as she looked up into the ceiling rafters. "I try not to listen to rumour. Anyway…" she aligned her eyes with his, the edges of her mouth lifting, "I have experience separating truth from lies."

She held his gaze until Draco twitched under its intensity. He looked away and then snorted. "Sure thing, Loony," he jeered, and then his temper cooled and he admonished himself for his childish reaction.

He grabbed his old wand and stuffed it in one of his coat's pockets and placed the new birch wand into his wand pocket. He turned from Lovegood and was startled at the faces all looking in, staring at him like a mummified specimen in a museum case. His lip lifted in a sneer.

"Draco, Harry Potter's back and he's going to stop your father. He just needs a bit of help from his friends, and maybe a good curse breaker," Lovegood said, her voice casual as if they were talking about the weather or spring shoe fashions.

His sneer dropped and he twisted around to stare at her over his shoulder. Outside shouts were exchanged by the onlookers. "He's in there." "I swear it was him, sir." "The Aurors, great! They'll get rid of him."

"You better go," Lovegood said, turning away from him. "I hope that wand works well for you for many years."

She was already walking towards the back of the shop, disappearing amongst the shelves. With a twirl, he Apparated away as the first red-cloaked wizard arrived.

* * *

They'd been lying there for thirty minutes and Teddy twitched and wriggled as he grew more and more antsy. Connie always wanted too much snuggling after sex and lately Teddy was less and less inclined to indulge her. Finally, she sat up, rolled her eyes at him and climbed off. "Fine, you're free now. Off you go."

She walked over to her pile of clothes and pulled on her panties and then the rest of her clothing as Teddy walked into the bathroom. "I'm showering. See you in class later." He didn't even look at her as he closed the door. He stood before the mirror and stared at himself. Love bites spread across his neck and his hair stuck up in a way he knew would have made Uncle Harry proud. He ran his hand over it and shrugged, letting it grow a little, taming it with length.

He turned the knobs and let the cold water flow through the dorm pipes before he tested it for warmth. He could use his wand, but he avoided using magic while at college. He dreaded a Muggle accidentally spying him doing something unexplainable. The current Ministry wasn't concerned with gentle methods of Memory alteration when it came to Muggles.

He stepped under the spray and let the heat seep into his muscles. With his eyes closed, he faced into the showerhead and rubbed vigorously at them. He had a long day ahead of him: a physics class, his calculus class and fencing. University was turning out to be a lot of work, but the atmosphere here was superior to the wizarding world's intolerance to free thought and he knew he'd never get a decent job without educating himself. He couldn't freeload off his grandmother forever.

After a quick scrub and another lengthy moment of basking in the hot spray, Teddy heard a soft noise come from his dorm room.

"Damn," he mumbled into the stream of water. Wasn't she gone yet?

He turned off the water and dried himself with a threadbare towel that his old roommate had left behind. "Connie," he called. "Are you still here?"

A loud thump and a crash caused Teddy to go stiff and he cursed himself for not having his wand with him. Maybe it was the Ministry. Maybe they had come to talk to him about his werewolf father. Maybe they wanted to question him about the recent vandalism in the Ministry atrium he'd read about. There was no way they could connect him to that.

He tucked the towel around his waist and grabbed the toilet brush, hoping that a pureblood wizard wouldn't know what it was. If they thought he was armed it might buy him some time, though, maybe he would be safer if they thought him weaponless. _Crap!_

Another crash, then someone on the other side of the bathroom door started whistling.

Teddy lowered the brush.

The whistling was terribly off tune, but it followed a familiar beat. Then it turned into a high pitched humming, sounding like a child mimicking a melody he'd heard while half asleep.

"Hmm, hmmm. Hmmm hmm hmmmmmm."

Teddy cracked the bathroom door open and peeked out. Peeking right back was the smiling face of his godfather, Harry.

"Uncle Harry?! Merlin's balls! You're alive?" Teddy cried in shock, throwing the bathroom door open all the way. He hadn't seen Harry for so many years, almost ten in fact, he thought he'd died. His godfather, though alive, looked the worse for wear. His black hair was being taken over by grey and had grown out long and curly. He had a rangy beard and looked like Hashwell the Hermit, just down from a mountain where he'd lived the ascetic's life. Worst of all, he was wearing a blanket. A single ratty, brownish blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and Teddy really wasn't sure he was wearing anything under it. Bare, cracked feet poked out from the fringe of the blanket's edge.

Harry's previous smile was dim compared to the grin that slid over his face at seeing Teddy. "Teddy!" Harry held his arms out wide, dropping the blanket, and Teddy cringed, even in the middle of his deep surprise. He'd been right when he worried his godfather wasn't wearing a stitch. "How are you?!" He moved in to hug Teddy, who in his confusion, didn't dodge away from the exceptionally dirty and smelly man.

"Great Harry… ugh." Teddy attempted to push off his godfather, but even though he looked rather worn, the older man had a sinewy strength to him. Try as he might, he couldn't pry Harry off, so he gave in and hugged him back, sinking into the hug in relief.

"It's so good to see you," Harry said, his voice oddly upbeat and warm. "And what a fabulous place. Did you know there's a museum full of glowing rocks in that really tall building? Glowing rocks! Without magic even. Muggles are so amazing."

Teddy chuckled weakly, remembering his own visit to the geology department's rock collection. "Harry, those aren't normally glowing rocks; they're put under the right light to make them glow. Nature's own magic," he said, then his smile grew warm and he shook his head in wonder. "What happened? Where have you been? I know after…" Teddy stopped. Harry's face had gone stiff, his eyes wide, and something in Teddy told him to avoid pain from the past. "I've missed you," he finished.

"I've missed you, too. It has been a long time… and things are so different. Everything is so different." Harry, naked and dirty, finally pulled away from Teddy and began wandering around his small dorm room. He flipped through Teddy's physics book, looked over a few pictures of his friends he'd tacked to the wall, and then ended before the window.

"Um, Harry. Why don't you put something on? Better yet, why don't you take a shower and I'll get you some clothes. Yeah?"

Harry turned back towards Teddy, his rib bones and sternum protruding through his thin skin. His eyes had something heavy and immensely sorrowful in them, but then Harry smiled again and all that remained was utter joy. _These are the eyes that have seen too much death, _thought Teddy.

"Shower," Harry said, full of that odd exuberance. "A real shower? Hot water? Sounds spectacular!" And he marched right past Teddy into the bathroom and closed the door. Seconds later, the water started running.

Teddy dropped down on the edge of his bed, again finding himself at a loss. After the tragedy nine years ago, Harry had disappeared. They had told Teddy that he'd had to get away, go on a kind of holiday for his health, but after a few years of no word from Harry, Teddy had harbored a secret assumption that he had died and nobody wanted to break the bad news. Now, Harry had become more like a legend, a fairytale that had emerged from little stories that were less memory and more a young boy's imagination. But he was here now. In Teddy's dorm room at Oxford. Did his grandmother know? Did anyone know? Questions raced through his mind as he waited for Harry to finish his shower.

* * *

Nibbling away like a rabbit, Harry shelled and ate pistachio nuts from a bowl on the restaurant table under Teddy's bemused gaze. The man was in an ecstatic trance as he shelled and nibbled, shelled and nibbled, eyes practically rolled back in pleasure.

"Merlin, these are amazing, Teddy. Mmmm, I don't think I've had anything so tasty." He unshelled another nut with some struggle, then tossed the meat into his mouth, sucked a little then began to chew. Teddy watched on in fascination. This new Harry--he couldn't really think of any other way to define his godfather--found joy and amazement in the simplest things.

After the shower with Harry's skin now clean and his face beardless, Teddy could see the discolouration from bruises and scars pop out in relief. He'd cheered over every article of clothing Teddy'd offered him. He'd fingered Teddy's silk shirt like the material was a brand new invention. He rolled the rough cotton of blue jeans between his hands and rubbed a scratchy wool sweater against his face. Sometimes he would inhale the scent, taking in deep breathes, making Teddy uncomfortable. He had washed them; he was sure of it.

And now it was flavour. Teddy continued to watch as Harry finished with the nuts and sipped his glass of lemon water, his eyes going wide at the sharply sweet flavour. "So fresh!" Harry declared and took another long swallow.

A pair of college students at the nearby table looked over at Harry with curious expressions. He grinned at them and waved.

The warm weather of the past week had held and they were sitting outside with other students at Green's Bistro. Teddy wished that Luna and Neville would get there soon; Harry wasn't acting normal and his odd behavior was making Teddy more than a little self-conscious.

A man ran by in a green tracksuit with headphones covering his ears and Harry watched him avidly until he rounded the corner and then returned his attention to his water. A waitress with her hair in two long plaits came up to their table and asked if they were ready to order. Teddy cleared his throat to distract Harry, his eyes glazed in their intensity, from reaching for the woman's hair.

"Harry, want a burger?" he asked. Harry looked away from the waitress and brought that mirrored gaze on Teddy. It was like nobody was flying the broomstick. Seconds passed and finally his face came alive again.

"Yes. I would love a burger," he said with an adamant nod.

"Two burgers and chips, please," Teddy ordered. "And we have two more people coming."

"Two burgers and chips," she repeated, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye as she scribbled on her little notepad. "Should I wait for the rest of your party?" she asked, tapping the pen against the paper.

"No, that's fine. Just bring it out when it's ready, please." The woman nodded and walked off.

"She was pretty," Harry whispered loudly.

Teddy looked back over at the woman. "Sure, I guess," he said doubtfully. She hadn't seemed too noticeable to him. She was maybe mid-twenties, long, brown hair, a definite harried look about her as she waited on her customers. Nope, he wouldn't have called her pretty unless he needed to lie to a relative or she was within earshot.

Harry continued to watch her, his chin resting in his palm as she wiped down tables and helped insistent customers, his beloved lemon water forgotten.

"Teddy… Harry?!"

Teddy turned around and saw Luna and Neville walking in from the street. The look on Neville's face suggested he'd just seen the infamous Nessy from that Scottish loch. Luna, on the other hand, didn't look fazed at all. That always bugged Teddy, especially when she knew it was him even if he was disguised under another face.

"Hello, Harry," Luna said. "Hey, Teddy." She sat in the chair next to Harry and began reading the menu. A bright blue ribbon was tied around her right pinky finger. Still standing where he'd stopped when he first spotted Harry, Neville's jaw was slack and his brown eyes were wide with shock.

With childlike exuberance, Harry waved at Neville. "Neville! Come on and join us!"

"Harry?" The word held wonder and awe. Neville took first one small step, then another and finally the man was practically running towards Harry, who jumped from his seat and launched himself into Neville's outstretched arms.

"How in Merlin's name…?" Neville asked in awe, patting Harry's shoulders, holding him out at arm's length to get a look at him. "I thought…" He looked beyond Harry to his wife and Luna smirked as she continued to scan the menu. "Where have you been?"

Harry's features smoothed and his eyes lost their luster, the bright shimmer turning into that closed, reflective glaze. Luna dropped the menu to the table and tilted her head to look over at Harry.

"Uncle Harry?" Teddy asked tentatively. "Harry?" His heart beat faster at Harry's lack of response. He jumped up from his chair and reached out to shake Harry from his stupor, maybe even slap him, but Luna was suddenly by his side and she halted Teddy's extended arm.

"Give him a minute," she said and Teddy felt like demanding what the hell she knew that nobody else seemed to. He and Neville stood by helpless, but Luna seemed ready, waiting.

"Harry, where have you been?" Luna asked Neville's question again, her voice soft and coaxing, like she was trying to convince a two-year old to eat his carrots.

"I was away," Harry said, his voice dull and flat. He swallowed.

"Where?" she asked again.

"In a room." This time his voice lilted, sounding slightly singsong, but his gaze remained unfocused, like he was looking far away into the past, seeming reluctant to revisit those dark and hidden depths.

"What was in the room?"

"A cot and a pot and a cursed idiot," he replied automatically.

"Was there anyone else there?"

"Tom and Roberto and a little mouse named Sasha."

Teddy glanced over at Neville whose brows were knit together in confusion. He knew exactly how the older man felt.

"Luna," he began, but she shushed at him, flapping her hand in his face.

"Harry, how did you get out of the room?"

"Open door. I crawled along the floor and it was such a chore, but it was out the door I flew." He was smiling now, looking far, far away and smiling.

"There was a Floo?" Neville blurted and Luna glared at him. Teddy rolled his eyes at Neville's general inability to stay on the ball.

"So you left the room. How did you get here?"

Harry blinked, shaking off his daze, and then jumped up to land on his chair. He lifted out his arms and said loudly to the crowd, "Teddy brought me here to dine on the finest cuisine, to hobnob with the elite Muggles of London! You are beautiful! Such beautiful people, you Muggles!"

"Harry!" Teddy jumped to his feet and pulled Harry down from the chair. Everyone in the restaurant was watching them with suspicious interest. The waitress took a tentative step towards them, but Teddy waved her off as he hustled Harry towards the street. Luna and Neville were right behind them.

"You can't do that, Harry," he scolded under his breath. "Would you calm down?" Though Harry was no longer espousing the glory of Mugglekind, he was still wriggling in Teddy's arms.

"Teddy, why don't you bring him to the shop? Okay?" Luna was nodding at him, as if the gesture would be catching and she could trick him in to agreeing.

Fortunately, he was more than ready to get Harry away from Muggle eyes. "Yeah, sure. I'll meet you there."

It took him a mouthful of coaxing to get Harry to follow him, but Teddy'd always been a sweet talker. Luna and Neville had gone ahead and left Teddy to drag Harry out of there, hoping they drew less notice in smaller numbers. He turned their escape into a game of cloak and dagger and Harry slipped along the street behind Teddy like a professional cutpurse.

"They won't get me, them coppers!" Harry would whisper in his ear as he was hunched over, sprinting from building entrance to building entrance. Clueless about what Harry was acting out, Teddy was happy enough because it kept him docile, and soon they were in an empty entrance to a run down theatre. A pigeon flew down and landed at their feet, strutting and cooing. Harry giggled.

Teddy reached out and grabbed Harry around the waist. Then Harry looked up from the bird to Teddy—Teddy was shocked to see he was taller than his godfather—and said, "But Teddy, I just don't think of you this way," then burst out laughing as Teddy Apparated them away.

* * *

Four hours later Harry lay curled up under a coarse blanket, resting on the floor in the back of the shop. Teddy stood over him and watched as Harry twitched and mumbled to himself. In this vulnerable state, Teddy had an overwhelming need to watch him, his every move, and know his constant whereabouts. The things Luna had gotten out of Harry had chilled him and he continued to rub his arms up and down to try to ward away the goose bumps.

Neville, the kind-hearted soul, had already left the building to get some fresh air. Luna was scribbling away in a notebook.

"Teddy?" she called him and he reluctantly turned away and looked over at her. "Did you know he had been institutionalized?" He shook his head. He hadn't known anything. He'd just known Harry'd left after… well after, and he'd assumed he hadn't wanted to rejoin wizarding society. Harry had always told Teddy in those years when he was in his care, that he never felt quite right after that whole Voldemort incident, but Teddy'd never understood. He was a toddler, how could he have?

Plus, every time he tried to talk about the Minister or how he ended up in the institution, Harry'd start to choke and shake and Teddy had worried he would bite off his tongue.

"We need help," she said. "I'm not a Healer and he obviously has more things to tell us." Strangely, Luna's calm attitude wasn't annoying Teddy; he simply took strength from it.

"Do you know of any Healers you can trust?" he asked. "Avoid anyone working for St. Mungo's, you know they're all under the Ministry's control. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could kick 'em."

"Well, there was an old classmate I think we can call upon. She wasn't in my House, but I know for a fact that she would keep this under wraps." Luna walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Powder. "We've worked together before," she said by way of explanation, but Teddy noticed she hadn't explained anything. "Mesper's Clinic, Healer Parkinson's office."

* * *

A large banner fluttered in the conjured breeze, hanging across the main street of Diagon Alley. In big, bold letters of gold it read "Minister Malfoy: Bringing in a New Era." A flock of white doves flew from building top to building top; every so often a feather would flutter down to the ground below. The sky was clear and the breeze relieved some of the noonday heat. Scores of people had gathered for the Minister's speech, dutiful in their support, watchful of the crowd, taking note of who wasn't in attendance. Everyone was smiling.

From across the crowded plaza Draco watched his father. The wizard stood tall, erect, a master of his features. He greeted the people with a wave and a nod and they cheered, raising their voices and clapping their hands as he passed amongst them. The way parted as he walked; nobody reached out to touch him.

Draco's heart turned to stone at the sight of his father. His scowl caused those close to him to move a few steps away, keeping a sharp eye on his features like one would an unfamiliar man on a dark street. As usual, Draco kept his mind locked tight. He could never be too safe amongst these fanatic patriots.

Then, for a brief flash, their eyes met. Lucius' eyebrows rose as Draco's furrowed together, and then the man smiled, an almost caring expression considering his usual stoicism.

Draco didn't know how, but his father recognised him, even through the Polyjuiced disguise. It wasn't a problem with the potion, Draco was an expert at such trivial things, it was something else that went beyond appearance and the mental arts; it had to do with blood.

Hate seethed from him, through his gaze, flaying out with bitter disgust. He hated his father. Hated him for his ruined sense of self. Hated him for years of deprogramming: lost years. But most of all, he hated his father for her. He hated his father not only because he was a twisted manipulative fuck but because he stole away the one person other than his mother that Draco had truly loved. Christine.

He wanted to lash out, to take those few steps separating him from his father and reach up and wring that aristocratic neck, to break his nose and bruise his eyes. He wanted to hurt Lucius like he'd hurt Draco, to make him realize his levels of cruelty, to make him pay.

It was coming any day now: his reckoning.

His father turned away and began speaking to his aide. Eyes glanced up and Draco knew that his surveillance had met its end; he needed to be elsewhere, and fast.

For days now they'd been hunting the town for him; the news of his presence in London had dispersed throughout the ranks of Ministry personnel straight to the Minister's desk. His father had had him branded as The Dissident years ago and who knew what the man would gamble on to get Draco back by his side. Draco had few friends left. Most of the Slytherins had died in the war, were imprisoned because of the war, or now sided with the Minister, fearful of another war. They supported him not only because it was long due for a Slytherin to take leadership, but also because many of them commended his masterful speech when he was removed from prison and were supportive of his pure-blood ideals. That they were blinded to the similarities between Lucius' party line and Voldemort's only solidified Draco's lack of desire to call any of them allies. Could they all be that stupid?

But there was one person Draco felt he could turn to.

And as three wizards began weaving their way towards him through the milling crowd, Draco made up his mind and with a twist and a pop, departed the crowded street.

His appearance in a small, tidy office caused a small yip to slip through Pansy's lips, but with well-bred skill she recovered admirably fast. Her startled, wide eyes narrowed into slits and her open mouth twisted to a frown.

"Draco bloody Malfoy…?" she began.

"Now, now, Pansy, such language…"

"Did you incur additional damage to your already handicapped brain when you made the very poor choice to Apparate into my office? I always knew you lacked foresight, intention and common sense, but this! I could have been with a patient!" Fists anchored to her hip bones and black hair drawn tight into a bun affected the guise of a cruel nurse eager to discipline and punish.

That was his Pansy. No, "Oh my God Draco, you've returned to me!" or "I was so worried." No, with Pansy it was always, "Draco, what the hell are you thinking?" How he missed her.

In Pansy's austere office, they stood facing each other in silent contemplation. He watched as her face transformed from outraged to irritated to finally resigned. "What do you want?" she eventually asked.

"Aren't you even worried that _The Dissident_ is in your office?" he asked with a sneer. "I could cut out your throat, burn down your office…"

"…annoy me to death," she finished. Finally, with a sigh she gestured to the chair opposite hers and sat down. "Draco, what in Hell's boiling inferno are you doing here?"

"Hell's boiling inferno?" Draco asked in disbelief as she took her place in her chair. "Better not let Lucius' men hear you say something so Muggle. Hell, indeed."

"Oh, what a load of snarfblat."

"Snarfblat?" he asked.

She shrugged. "No idea; saw it on one of those animated Muggle films." Then she broke out into a smile. "Merlin's arse, Draco. It's good to see you."

She stood and reached out for him. There, this was the welcome he expected. Rising to his feet, he held his arms out and when she reached back and slapped him, he knew he had finally returned to his friend.

"Ow! What was that for?" He touched the sharp sting on his cheek.

"For running out on all of us! You bastard. We're here trying to add some sanity to your father's government, and you just run off to Merlin knows where and hide for the last… what fifteen years?"

"Only thirteen."

"And then one of the most wanted men in the country pops into my office unannounced. I might as well have Harry fucking Potter and Dumbledore's ghost over for tea. They hate them almost as much as they hate you."

"They hate me?" Draco asked, aghast.

"Oh come off it; at every turn you do something stupid to piss off your father and his Ministry." Pansy took a step closer to him, jabbing him in the chest with her sharp fingernail, so deep red in colour that Draco wondered if it was actual polish and not evidence of what happened to the last person who'd annoyed her. "Gassing the Auror's training centre. Casting the Imperius Curse on Ministry personnel. Random bombings in populated areas where your father was speaking. Torching your own home. Were you even thinking?" Her fingers wrapped around the linen of his shirt and she pressed into his chest. "Should you have been sorted into Hufflepuff?"

"Pansy!" he said, shocked. "Don't say such things."

"Damn it, Draco," she said softly, dropping her hand to her side. She lowered her gaze, refusing to look in his eyes, and gently shook her head. "Was she worth all of this?"

Cold anger gripped Draco and he glared at his old classmate. "Fuck yes, she was!" he yelled, spittle flying off his lips. His hands gripped into fists at his side and he struggled not to hit her. "How the hell could you ask that? I loved her! Do you even know what that means, you cold hearted bitch?"

"Draco!" Pansy cried, her eyes wide and hurt.

"I came here for your help, for some information. I came here to talk to a friend. What's the point? You're not really in this; you aren't really trying to stop Lucius. You claim to be against his regime, but what are you doing? Filing complaints? Gathering signatures? How the hell is that good for anything? The only thing that will take out my father is a well aimed Avada."

Distress stood out on Pansy's face through the crease on her forehead and her closely drawn eyes. "Draco Malfoy, you shut your mouth. I don't want to hear of any patricide intentions. Sit down and shut up and drink some tea." She placed her hands on Draco's shoulders, a gentle touch that caused him to tense up, and pushed him back into the chair, where he surrendered and let himself fall with a soft 'thump.' The chair rolled a few feet away under his weight. He watched dumbly as Pansy spelled him a hot cup of tea and pressed it into his hands.

"Now, when you're calm, we can talk. Until then, just shut your lips." She turned away from him and Draco realized the struggle she was under and he wondered if she wanted to hug him or kick him and suddenly he felt contrite.

As he sipped his tea and pondered over what to do about his father, the office's Floo flared up in putrid green flames. Pansy looked sharply over at Draco, but it was too late as a face popped into the fire.

"Pansy, I need to talk to you. It's important. Oh, hello again, Draco," said Luna Lovegood.

* * *

The office felt stifling and stuffy with the five individuals consuming the small space. The air tasted used up.

Luna Lovegood was smiling that ludicrous knowing smile at everyone, seemingly pleased as punch to see all of them in Pansy's office. Pansy had her arms folded firmly over her chest, a severe frown letting everyone know just how unsatisfactory the entire situation was. Then Draco looked at the other two. The younger, Ted Lupin, had grown since Draco'd last seen him in the Alley many years ago. He'd heard he was a metamorphmagus like his mother, but he looked spectacularly boring right now, if gormless, as he stared at Draco in amazement. And then there was the enigma that was the last resident of the room. One Harry Potter, dressed in colours that clashed horridly, but still Draco couldn't seem to look away. There was something odd about Potter. He was smiling.

He was smiling at Draco.

"What do you want, Lovegood?" Pansy asked, all of the annoyance she could muster flavoured her question.

"Oh, Pansy…" Lovegood looked meaningfully at Pansy.

Pansy threw her hands up into the air and sighed. "Fine! I'm happy to see you got him out of there, Luna. Did everything go okay?" she asked in a rush.

Draco knew that somewhere, somehow, he'd missed the plot-thread and by the look on Lupin Jr.'s face, he was reading the same bad tale.

"I had some of our friends deal with it. They weren't caught and assured me they left no evidence. Harry doesn't even remember seeing anyone there," Lovegood explained.

"Good. So, we have him now. I was concerned when…" she stopped, looking from Lovegood to Lupin.

"He showed up at Teddy's dorm room! Imagine that," Lovegood said, sounding pleased and amused.

"Lupin's?"

"Right, you could've warned me," Lupin said. "What's wrong with him, anyway?" he finished in a whisper, as if Potter wasn't standing right there, ignoring their entire conversation, much more interested in ogling Draco.

"I know you," Potter said to him.

Taken aback, Draco sneered. "Of course you do, Potter. We only went to school together for six years. Lose a few cards from the Exploding Snap deck?" Repeatedly squeezing his hands into fists, he switched his weight from one leg to the next. There were too many people in the tiny office.

Harry laughed and Draco took a step away. Maybe madness was catching.

Then the Lupin kid's words distracted him from keeping his distance from Mad Potter. "Wait," Lupin said, "you two are part of the resistance?" His eyes shifted from Pansy to Lovegood, his crooked smile full of awe. "I've done some work with the resistance," he said, proudly.

"Great, we have a Rebels' Reunion party in full swing. Just wait, any second now the Magical Law Enforcement will come knocking on your door with hats and party crackers." Draco scowled.

"And then there's you," Lupin pointed at Draco. "The poster child for the resistance. Wow. This is fabulous!" Then he turned shy and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's good to finally meet you," he murmured.

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned. He had to ditch this circus and fast. While he had the utmost respect for Pansy, the rest were all a bunch of badly trained monkeys. He'd return when the pack of crazies left.

"I'm going…" he began but was cut off.

"Potter has to be cured," Pansy said blatantly. "He is the only known person who has information on what Lucius Malfoy did to become Minister. Your father never could have made it without something underhanded. Some curse, some bribes." She coloured pink, and then pointed at Potter. "He is the one with proof to take him down." She looked over at Draco who had one hand in the Floo Powder jar and one foot in the Floo. "And Draco, you are the only one who can cure him."

Draco stalled in mid-motion. "How do you know he knows anything about my father?" Draco asked, studying first Pansy and then Lovegood, and then returning his focus to Pansy's pink cheeks.

Pansy sighed. "Draco, get your hand out of there and get over here." She stepped to her chair behind the desk and primly sat down in it, then she double-checked her locking charm.

With another deep breath, she began, "We were all proud of your father. We worked hard to get him out of prison. When we finally got his sentence repealed and he addressed everyone, his words…" She gazed up at the ceiling. "You don't understand." Imploringly, she looked at Draco. "The things he said gave us all hope. They filled us with power and we believed in him. He would make a change.

"I was working so hard at getting him out of there--petitions, rallies, gathering evidence--that I hadn't noticed it at the time. He was giving more and more speeches, making more and more public appearances. I remember that sometimes Potter would show up and try to speak against Lucius, but nobody would listen. We were all enthralled. Seriously. That is what he was doing, charming us in some innate, subtle way that we just didn't notice." She paused to swallow. "It was amazing spellwork.

"Then Potter began blatantly casting spells at the gatherings. In the back of the crowd he would perform this elaborate ritual. It wasn't long after that when people began to get irate, but not at Potter… at Lucius. People were speaking against him… Now you must remember, we had nobody to follow. Nobody to turn to. The Ministry was in shambles--Kingsley was a great Auror, but not such a great Minister. The British wizarding world was torn apart, nobody trusted anybody. Still! Even after Potter'd killed the Dark Lord."

Lupin was watching Pansy with wide eyes and a look of adoration. Draco himself was in awe of Pansy's tale. He hadn't known this. He'd been so isolated from everyone that he just hadn't bothered to learn about any of it.

"We believed that Potter was cursing people at the gatherings where Lucius spoke. We thought he was doing something to us, making us turn against Lucius," Pansy continued. Sometimes she would close her eyes, but usually she'd stare hard at Draco, implanting this history that he hadn't personally experienced.

"But then, I got caught in Potter's ritual and my entire feelings changed. Lucius wasn't some God sent to deliver us! Lucius was a man and he was power hungry and he was saying the same things the Dark Lord had, just a little less maniacally. You see, Lucius had always been a better Slytherin than Tom Riddle. Lucius was subtle; he was skilled at twisting people to his side. He'd been enchanting people on a huge scale and that is why so many followed him.

"It was then that I began to search for Potter. He had a small following of people, like some hidden messiah. He would talk about tolerance, he would talk about living with each other no matter their school alliances or blood status, and he was right. How stupid that we, as adults, still cared who was a Hufflepuff and who was a Ravenclaw, what consistency someone's blood had when it came to the right to live. Yes, I still think blood status is important," she glared at Draco, "but I don't think it is a line that others can control you over. Lucius was developing another classist society and Harry was speaking against that.

"There were people from all Houses there where Harry was spreading the word against Lucius, all nationalities, blood purity, and some argued with him, but most understood what he was saying. 'Think for yourself!' That was _his_ party line and it made sense.

"And then the event in July happened." She looked warily up at Potter, who, momentarily forgotten by everyone, was untying and retying his shoelaces. "And then he disappeared."

All the while Pansy was speaking Lovegood was nodding her head. "He'd been cursed, that's why he exploded. Then they locked him away for 'his own safety and the safety of the populace.' He's a bit insane, really," Lovegood said with a touch of caring pride to her voice. Then she lifted her chin towards Draco and said, "So, be a good Dissident and take Harry to whatever hole you've been hiding in and cure him."

"What?" What did they want him to do? He couldn't believe his ears. "You expect me to be his keeper?"

"Somebody has to do it," Pansy said.

"What about Weasley or Granger or his little girlfriend, Weaselette?" he said with a sneer. "I don't need this."

"Don't be rude," Lovegood said disgustedly, finally showing an emotion other than delight and un-surprise. "You're a potions master, plus you probably know more about dark curses than anyone else not under Ministry employ. You have to do this," she said.

"But…" Draco protested, confused and frustrated.

"Oh, do quit your whining and do your part for the masses, Draco." Pansy patted his arm. "There, that's a good boy."

And that was how Draco found himself with a broken Harry Potter in his secluded house in the highlands.

* * *

And he found himself watching as Potter stood stock still in the centre of his living area and examined the walls. Not necessarily the art hanging there, or the bookcases resting against the walls, or the fine tapestry—one of many he'd smuggled out of the Manor before he blew it up—depicting a scene with a group of children circle dancing around a unicorn. No, not any decorations, but the actual walls.

He wasn't sure if it was the swirling texture, or the deep tan colour. Maybe it was the room beyond or the protective magics that were cast upon the house. All Draco knew was that something had completely and totally possessed the senses of Potter the minute he walked out of the Floo into Draco's home.

Finally, after approximately ten minutes, Potter ran his hand over his hair, smoothing his black mane and Draco felt an overwhelming urge to laugh or yell or just make some noise to break this odd sense of _anticipation_.

"Nice colour," the crazy man finally said and Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. His shoulders relaxed and he shook his head.

"Thank you for such a deep and thoughtful compliment. Come with me; I shall show you where you will be staying."

He walked past the sofa and the dining table and down a long tunnel that had been dug into the hillside deep into the basalt rock. It turned to the right and a series of rooms waited for guests that would never arrive. He stood before one door and pushed it open, then turned, annoyed that Potter hadn't followed like he'd asked. But as he looked back down the hall, there was Potter, not a foot away from Draco, who'd jumped at the unexpected proximity of the other wizard.

"Damn it, Potter. Make a little more noise next time," he grumbled and was surprised when Potter said, "Okay, Draco."

Draco's eye twitched. "This is your room." With a gentle nudge, he pushed open the door and gestured Potter into the room that housed a dresser, a bed and a small washroom. There were no windows—he hadn't even bothered to spell one to show the outside, he hadn't seen the point—and neither was there any art. It was bare and utilitarian.

Potter crossed the small room in two strides and threw himself onto the bed, which bounced under his assault. The springs squeaked and Draco pondered a de-squeak spell when Potter yelped in excitement. "This is wonderful, Draco! So much better than the cell I was in at the hospital." Draco cringed. "Oh, a bathroom!" Potter squealed like a frying sausage and scurried into the washroom to turn on all the faucets and repeatedly flush the toilet.

"I'll… ah, let you get settled in. I'll call you for dinner in an hour," and with that Draco turned his back on his guest and fled the room.

_What the hell had they done to him?_ Draco wondered and began categorizing potential cures so he could get the truth out of the wretch even as he pulled vegetables out of the fridge and began to prepare dinner.

* * *

Potter hadn't said a word through the entire meal. He smiled at things, nodded, hummed a bit, but he seemed entirely disinclined to actually speak real words, and Draco wasn't about to push him, to pretend like he cared when he really didn't. Just as long as the infuriating man did speak when the time came. Speak against his father.

When Draco had swallowed the last bite of his stir-fry, a quick and easy meal he learned from Christine, he picked up his plate and then reached for Potter's, who'd been finished for a while now and was simply sitting and gazing at Draco. As Draco's hand grasped the plate, Potter reached out and gripped Draco's wrist.

"I'll get that," he said cheerily.

"Cat finally released your tongue?" Draco sneered, letting go of the plate and wrenching his arm away. The plate clattered against the table.

"Cat?" Potter said, confused, then lifted his hand to his mouth and to Draco's surprise, he wrapped his fingers around his tongue. "Waat doya mea?" he mumbled. "Cah?"

Draco grabbed his dish. "Potter, that is disgusting. Get your hand out of your mouth; you don't know where either have been." Turning his back on the monstrous curiosity that was Potter, Draco took his plate into the kitchen. He placed the dirty plate in the sink and peered out the small window overlooking the uninhabited hills surrounding his home. Evening shadows blended individual fir trees into a single mass. To the far right the hills were streaked with purple and dark pink. This was his home, his secluded hide-away, and now his childhood nuisance was invading it. He looked away from the window down to his hands, rubbing his wrist where Potter had grabbed him. He suddenly felt smothered.

"Potter, are you staring at my back?" he asked as the fine hairs covering his neck shivered.

"No," came the very close reply. Potter seemed to have forgotten the whole concept of personal space. Draco stood tall and turned to look down the man.

"What can I do for you?" Draco asked through gritted teeth.

"What am I doing here?" Potter asked, his usual grin of stupidity gone. There was something in those eyes, something sharp and clear and completely deadly.

Immediately, Draco was on his guard. "What do you remember?" he asked.

"Being trapped in hell," was all Potter said and then he crumbled to the floor, as if a pack of kneazles had just landed on his back. He panted as he sat there on hands and knees before Draco, like a supplicant begging for forgiveness.

"Potter?" Draco asked warily, prodding him with the toe of his shoe.

Then Potter flipped up his head, his hair tossed elegantly and that serious look, the crisply sane look, was gone, and what remained was mildly amused and predatory.

"Look at me," he said in mock surprise, "kneeling before you. How'd I get here, Draco? Is there something you'd like to request?" Potter rose up to his knees and reached for Draco, who took a step to the side, a fierce bubble of horror inflating in his chest.

"Potter, what the hell? Just how many of you are in there?"

Potter chuckled as he sat back on his heels. "I'm the only one who matters, so let's cut to the chase. You have me trapped, locked away in this stone tower, far away from any eyes and ears. Why did you bring me here, _Draco_?" The way he said 'Draco' was purely pornographic. "What are your plans?"

"Fucking hell, Potter. I brought you here to cure you. To take down my father. You're twisted!" he yelled, then brushed past the kneeling man and left to barricade himself in his rooms.

* * *

"Did you even bother to do an evaluation on him before you forced him upon me?" Draco yelled into the Floo. Pansy, on the other side, flinched. "I can't deal with him. He. Is. Insane!"

"Draco, calm down. Luna told you he was insane, but it isn't his fault. We think it's all due to a curse. It is magical insanity. You studied all these curses back at the end of the war. You know more about them than anyone. Please… I don't know anyone else who can fix him. Potter knows how to cancel your father's enchantment; don't you feel any responsibility here?" She looked away from Draco, her pug nose pointing into the air. "I can't do it and I don't have many people who I trust anyway." The green flames flared as the fire popped.

"Loony Lovegood," he mumbled.

"Luna is indefatigable in the fight, Draco. If you trust me, then trust Luna. She is a bit batty, but you don't become the apprentice to the premier wand maker in Britain if you can't work out a problem or two."

"Fine, you trust Loony. I would take Loony over fucking Potter anyway. Do you know what? He came onto me! In my kitchen," he pointed sharply towards the room behind him.

Pansy began to chuckle. "What? Is that what's got your knickers all in a twist? Come on, Draco. So Potter's a flamer. You're an attractive man, you can't blame him," she said with a cheeky grin.

"Oh yes, I can. I don't _do_ men, Pansy. I do one person… _did_ one person. And we all know how that turned out."

Pansy immediately sobered. "Draco…" she started, but Draco held up his hand to stop any of her unwanted sympathy. Losing Christine was years ago. He was over it… Over it.

"Don't." He took a deep breath. "Fine. I have a few leads, but I have to run a full diagnostic on him and I'm waiting for that randy personality to go away."

"What? You mean he has dissociative identity disorder?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Draco shrugged. "Well, so far I've got loopy Potter, serious Potter and will-fuck-a-goat Potter. I'd say yes."

She sighed. "You _must_ do this, Draco. He is our last chance. With him we can break this spell your father has over Britain. We can take him down! Can't you make this little sacrifice?" she begged and Draco pulled his haughtiness around him like a shield.

"Of course," he deadpanned. "I can deal with anything for that." His eyes became flinty, hard, and he pushed away the annoyance that constantly threatened to crack him.

Pansy nodded, and he closed the connection and set out to find Potter.

He found Potter curled up on Draco's bed. The pillow was pulled close to his chest and Potter's face was half buried in its folds. This close Draco could see grey streaking the once black hair and he had a disturbing urge to touch him—to simply reach out his hand and run it over the locks of hair that shimmered in the candle light. Something seemed to draw him to this man who had gone through so much and still strove to live on, to exist, and the sheer propensity of his life amazed him.

Suddenly he pulled away. He would cure him. He would stop his father. And then, he would live again. Just like Potter, he had that strength.

* * *

"Potter, stop your damned squirming."

Potter sat on the examination table that Draco'd Transfigured from a metal stool in his lab. Dressed only in his pants, he was kicking his feet over and over causing the table to rock. With his new wand and a set of sensitive instruments Draco'd got from Pansy, he had Potter hooked up and was scanning him for every anomaly he could think of.

The kicking stopped. "Can't you call me Harry? I mean, would it be so hard?"

Draco lowered his wand and looked at the man's eyes. They were sharp again, serious but curious. Was this a new Potter, or the less crazy Potter from the other night?

"I could call you Harry," Draco said warily, looking at him sideways. "If you promise not try and grope me again," he said, watching him closely. The immediate widening of his eyes shocked Draco.

"I did what?" Potter… Harry asked, aghast.

"Just keep your hands to yourself and we have a deal."

Draco watched curiously as a crimson blush spread from his cheeks to his ears and all the way down his chest. He gave a few sharp nods. "Ye… Yes. Sorry," he mumbled.

"Not a problem, now lift up your arms."

Harry did and giggled as Draco poked him in the ribs with his wand.

It took hours and both Draco and Harry were ready to be done with the examination. He'd poured no less than fifteen potions down the man's throat and had him in a status spell for a half hour to test the delicate web of his magic that coursed through his body.

It was almost nine that evening when Pansy came walking into the laboratory.

"Nice of you to knock," Draco mumbled. Harry waved happily at her. She ignored him.

"I called you and you didn't answer," she said with a shrug. "Well?" she asked as Draco examined the parchment he'd been writing on. He unrolled a portion of it and began reciting from a long list.

"The Confundus Charm, Bone Cruncher Curse, extensive Cruciatus and Legilimency. Also he'd been under Confutimago and Scindomago variants, to name a few. Those are the major curses that his body and magic show signs of being subjected to. But it isn't just that Harry," Pansy cocked an eyebrow and Draco continued on, "is under the after-effects of all of these curses combined, there are also other curses, more recent, that I've never seen before. I have a lot more research to do. A lot more."

"Well, can you fix it?" she asked.

Harry lifted his hands to his face, examining them with utter curiosity like he'd just discovered something rare and alien. "My skin," he said, "it covers me from head to toe," then he lifted up his finger and poked himself in his ear, "except for just a few holes. Isn't that amazing? How did this happen?" Draco looked at Pansy, who looked at Harry with open incredulity.

Draco raised his palms in defeat. "Who knows if I can fix it."

* * *

With a calculated hand, he tilted the beaker and let one, two, then a third drop of the viscous necrosis worm blood drop into the pewter cauldron. The fluid hissed, then sputtered and Draco took an alarmed step back. He knew he was pushing it by adding that third drop, but cautious wizards never cured curses, so he cast a shielding spell and watched as the contents roiled and bubbled over the edge of the shiny metal. This was his fifth concoction in which he modified Storcher's Mending Potion to work against the agglomeration of Harry's curses. The last four he'd fed to test hamsters and they'd each croaked in a variety of colourful ways. He'd dismissed the bodies, forcing them into magical null space to assure Harry never knew exactly how he was assessing the safety of his trials.

Finally the turbulent reaction abated and all that remained was a slowly simmering cauldron of a deep blue potion. Deep blue was good. He stepped forward and examined the colour, dipped in a spoon and tested the tackiness. All of the signs showed a reduced risk of a negative reaction, so he finally relaxed and began filtering the cure, _yes it would be a cure_, into vials.

With all of his concentration on the delicate procedure, he hadn't even heard his crazy visitor enter the lab.

"Hey!"

Draco flinched and spilled a dab of the potion onto the counter. It splattered, spraying out small droplets. Some hit his clothing and skin, hissing away as it dissolved the organic material.

Like surgical needles, the sensation burrowed into Draco's skin. With determination he gently placed the vial down, but once it was safely stowed, panic seized him and he clutched his wand, casting spells without even thinking of the reaction they might have with his experimental mixture.

Nothing was working. The sizzle rang in his ears and he could smell the sweet scent of teriyaki pork on the air. His breath came in shallow sips and all he could focus on was the burning, the fucking burning and then there was a cold flash all around him and the agony ceased.

He realized he was on the floor and strong arms were gripping him around the shoulders. A slight rocking motion and soft murmuring lured him out of his frantic state and he looked down at his legs and arms. There were charred holes in his clothing, but when he looked at his hands, where only moments before flesh had been melting off the bone, they were whole.

He looked at Harry, whose face was only inches from his, with wide eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists, feeling the stretch of skin.

"You were hurt."

"I know that," Draco spat. "How did it stop?"

"I made it stop. You were hurt. I couldn't let you be hurt," Harry said, his voice going high and uncertain. "You were screaming and you were hurt," he repeated, now rocking them both more forcefully.

"Harry," Draco said, reaching up to pat the man on one of the hands that clutched tightly to Draco's shoulder. "It's alright. Everything is fine. I'm okay. See," he held up his hands, "you saved me."

Everything glowed on Harry's face, as bright and sudden as a Muggle fireworks display, like he'd found his lost puppy who'd been missing for days. "I'm happy," he said, then stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Draco behind to ponder a few things.

Then he stood and began a sixth iteration of the Storcher's Mending Potion. That last one certainly wasn't viable.

* * *

With a baleful expression, Draco examined his ingredient stores. After almost two weeks of experimenting on the Storcher's Mending Potion he had begun running out of necessities. Even recognizing the potential danger of leaving Harry to his own entertainment, he knew he had to do some shopping. Most of the items he needed were rather mundane: agar powder, starch, chickpeas, and blood, lots and lots of blood, but some things would require a visit to a wizarding shop, such as buggle beetle eyes and birutsu petals. He grabbed a parchment and wrote out a list of the things he needed and quantities.

After he'd completed his list, he grabbed his coat and went to the Floo, only to be stopped by his houseguest. Harry was sitting in the chair in the entrance room, chewing on his index finger's nail, his eyes wide and seemingly capable of ingesting every little detail.

"I need to go to Cork Morin. Stay out of trouble," Draco said.

Harry lowered his finger from his mouth. "I'm going with you," he said.

"No. You are not."

"Yes, I am," he insisted. "I want a TV."

"Potter…"

"You said you would call me Harry. Did I do something inappropriate?" he asked, looking mildly panicked. He either shined with giddy happiness, oozed sexuality, or looked like he did now, like a young boy just trying to be good. Draco was tempted to fabricate something appropriately shocking so Harry would stop harassing him, but that look on his face caused Draco to shake his head. He found he had little desire to cause the already unstable man anymore anguish.

"No. But you still can't come."

"Why not?" He perked up. "It will be fun. We can go shopping together! I can pick out the best telly and set it up for you. You know it is awfully dull here, all alone while you're hidden away in your laboratory raising the dead or something."

"You are being ridiculous," Draco informed him, realizing he was losing ground.

"Then give me ridiculous rules. I'll keep to 'em. I promise." He held up one hand, palm out towards Draco. "On my honor."

Draco sighed. "Fine. The Rules: Stay by my side. Do what I say. Don't talk to anybody…"

"Can we go telly shopping?"

"Sure. Whatever, I don't care. Just don't get into trouble." He knew this was a mistake. Right now, if Draco cracked open a fortune cookie it would read, "You are an idiot."

"I won't. Don't you worry," Harry said with a cheeky grin, his hair all wild and his eyes glowing with delight.

Twenty minutes of Harry sticking to his side, doing exactly what Draco said and not talking to anyone put Draco into an inappropriately reckless mood.

They'd just walked through the red light district of Liverpool that led to Cork Morin, a small wizarding section of the town. The entrance was hidden away in the back of a light bulb store. "We Have Over 1,000 Light Bulbs in Stock," the sign read.

"Wait." Harry grabbed onto Draco's arm as he was reaching to flip a switch for a purple light bulb, the first in a long order to gain entrance to the magical section. Annoyed at being disrupted, he glared over at Harry.

"What?"

"You seriously are going to walk right into a wizarding centre? With me?" Then he began to laugh, loudly, and the three people in the shop perusing light bulbs looked over at them in the back. "This is going to be fun!"

"Would you be quiet? Common sense, Potter!" he snarled, dragging Harry behind a wall of novelty bulbs in the shapes of retro shoes, animals, cartoon characters and other stupidly inane things. "You do have some, don't you?"

"You're asking me?" Harry asked, still laughing though not so maniacally.

"Fine. You stay here. In this shop, Potter. Don't leave! I will be back in less than half an hour." As he turned to continue flicking the bulb switches Harry said, "Don't forget a Disillusionment Charm!" Draco stalked through the gateway, without looking back.

Which was potentially a mistake, but he just needed some time alone, time away from Harry and his crazy personality swings. The man could switch from melancholy to joy faster than a pregnant woman and it played a number on Draco's nerves. He wasn't used to dealing with overly dramatic people, well other than Pansy of course, or people in general and he missed his lonely, quiet days.

When he returned to the exit at the light bulb emporium, having met no problems and having exactly what he needed in a tightly wrapped package shrunk in his pocket, he had expected to find Harry there, quietly waiting and ready.

He was mistaken. Harry was not quietly waiting. He wasn't waiting at all and after a brief inquiry of the man behind the counter, Harry'd left some twenty minutes ago.

"Did you see where he went?" Draco demanded. He couldn't lose Harry. He could only imagine what Pansy would do to him. Not to mention the fact that he held the answer to ripping down his father's Ministry.

"Well yes," said the old man as he scratched at his beard. "He went left up the street. Said something about Tescos and a television."

"Thanks," Draco said, and ran out of the shop.

He ran past a large pink building advertising adult videos and books. He ran past a flower market with wilting flowers in the shop window looking brown and more than a day or two past their prime. Then he ran past a pastry store, a sweet shop, an accountant's business and finally he saw Tescos up ahead.

He walked up to the magical Muggle doors that slid open on his approach and stood lost and amazed at the collection of _stuff_ held in rows upon rows of shelves within the store. Certain that he would have a better chance of finding Harry in Diagon Alley, Draco nevertheless took a few more steps into the store, looking left then right, pondering which way to go when something drew his attention.

"Did you see that man?" a harsh whisper came across the row to his left.

"Yes! Can you imagine? Was that…" The whispering got too low so Draco couldn't hear the words, but something in his gut told him they had to be talking about crazy man Potter.

He readied his wand, ensuring that it was resting just up his sleeve, and stepped beyond the edge of the aisle.

Giggling, childlike and happy, came from around the next corner as two women scurried away, glancing over their shoulders in disapproval. With horror in his gut, Draco took a step forward, then another and finally glanced around the corner.

Standing there in the gardening section, dressed in a neon green running suit, Harry Potter was facing a display, reaching out to touch something. As Draco stepped closer, his boots thumping on the tiles, he saw that Harry had something white and round by his side.

The green suit practically glowed it was so bright and a lolly dangled from his gormless grin. Finally, Draco could see that Harry was touching a pot of moss, petting it like it was a favourite cat. He looked from the plant up to Draco and he seemed so pleased, so content, that Draco's initial reaction to the white _thing_ by his side took time to click.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Draco asked, taking a step away.

"I call her Sally. Isn't she pretty? I want to take her home and play." Harry reached down and squeaked his fingers along the plastic of the white, round sheep. The sound carried down the corridor between potted houseplants and Miracle Gro. Draco'd seen one of these before in a novelty catalogue. It was an animal sex doll and he was certain that such relations could curse your prick right off.

"No! Put that down, Potter. Are you insane?" Then Draco smacked his palm to his forehead.

"I just wanted a little fun," Harry pouted. He had one hand gripped around the collar of the blow up doll and another held the bright red lolly he was sucking on. Something about him looked sinful and Draco covered his eyes and took three deep breaths. "I found the telly section, too," he mumbled through his full mouth.

"Potter, why did you run off?"

"I was bored and there was this really interesting building that was all pink and they had really neat stuff inside, you should see it, Draco, and movies and…"

"Would you stop!" he yelled, thrusting his hands down to his sides, fuming at the idiot who was drawing more and more attention.

Harry lowered the hand with the lolly and he stared open-jawed at Draco, like he'd been slapped. With tentative steps he walked up to Draco and then dropped Sally so the ground. With a shaking hand he reached up and his face transformed from tiny toddler to completely smitten at the touch of Draco's hair.

"So soft. Like the moss. Soft and fine." Harry drew his fingers from the top of Draco's head to the edge of his jaw, feeling his hair, caressing him.

"Stop it," Draco said in a low, emotionless voice.

Harry petted him again.

"Stop it," he said louder and grabbed Harry's wrist as it was going up for another pass.

"So soft," Harry murmured, entranced with his hair.

"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

Draco turned to drag the spectacle away when Harry stiffened. His eyes grew wide enough that the emerald iris swam in a sea of white. Horror, sheer terror contorted his face as his hand clenched into a claw, pulling at Draco's grasp. A small clatter revealed that the candy had dropped from Harry's other hand and his knees buckled as he fell to the floor. Draco grabbed for him and held him up, gripping the man to his chest. A few people behind him asked if they were all right, but Draco ignored them. Something was terribly, terribly not all right.

"Potter? Harry?" Draco asked, urging him with a shake. "What's wrong with you?"

"Draco," Harry cried breathlessly, gasping to form each word. "Run. Get away." Panting, he tried to pull from Draco, but Draco held tight. "Get. Everyone. Away."

A pulse of heat and light and magic began to surge off Harry in waves. With skin almost the same green as his terrible polyester suit, Harry looked ready to vomit over everything. Then the magic began crawling over Draco's skin, digging into his pores, pressing into his eyeballs and with a frantic urge to conserve himself, Draco pushed hard on Harry, sending him stumbling away into a pile of peat pellets that rained down but never even touched his body, instead glancing off the tangible aura around him.

The people watching began to run away, yelling at the top of their lungs about somebody with a bomb or that someone needed help and the panic swelling off Harry flooded the entire store.

"What the fuck?" Draco screamed, hoping that a sudden spark of inspiration would tell him what needed to be done, what exactly was going on with Harry.

"Run!" Harry screamed and screamed and screamed and so Draco lunged for him, grabbed him tight and disappeared only to reappear in an instant to a deserted stretch of beach on the west coast of Scotland.

"Run! Merlin fucking God not again!" Harry screamed, digging into his eyes with his fingers and red lines began etching their way along Harry's pale skin. "Run!" and this time Draco did.

* * *

In bright flashes of frantic intention the next few minutes blurred together in terrified shock. He Apparated into Pansy's office and in less than twenty words expressed the disaster that the last fifteen minutes of his life had turned into and that Pansy needed to do clean-up at a Tescos in Liverpool.

Then, with his heart plugging his throat, he returned a mile away from the empty beach he'd left Harry, positioning himself on a rocky hill.

"_Telopticus_," he cast and his vision cleared like an eagle's and he zoomed into the spot where he was sure he'd left Harry. The ground shimmered in the light of the sun and Draco's initial reaction was confusion, until he realized all of the sand along the beach had been melted and now glittered like glass.

In the centre of the wasteland was a green blob. It didn't move—nothing in the area moved—and Draco fell to a squat and surveyed the devastation. Unsure if it was safe to move in, he waited. After an hour passed he stood and began walking towards the green figure, huddled in fright, pulled tight like a tortoise protecting its vulnerable spots. It took him about twenty minutes to scramble down the hill and over the rough terrain of melted sand. He would pass the charred remains of gulls and small mammals and he thanked Merlin that nobody else has been out on this beach today.

Finally, he stood a yard away from Harry, who was whimpering, hiding his face from the sun.

"Potter," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and pooled with tears. He seemed shocked to see what lay around him. Lifting up his hands he examined them, studied them like they were a rare mineral forged from the heat at the centre of the earth.

"I didn't want to die this way. There is too much to do… I'm not ready." Harry was mumbling, blabbering and Draco wasn't sure if he really knew what had happened. "Do you think they'll forgive me?" He looked up from his palms and his gaze demanded answers, begged for them as if they were the only thing that could make him continue on. "My parents, Sirius, Dumbledore? Will I see Ron and Hermione again, and Ginny? Will they forgive me, or am I to be alone forever?"

Draco took those few steps separating them and dropped to his knees. "You won't be alone. I'll help you, Harry. I promise this."

"You can cure this? Me? Save me from this enemy that I've become." He covered his face with his hands and crouched over, huddling in the smallest form he could. His hands muffled his words, but Draco could hear them as well as their anguish. "Stop me from hurting people? I just wanted to stop Voldemort, be a kind of hero, then quietly find some nice bloke and settle down with a white picket fence and maybe a crup and be happy."

"There is no such thing as a conservative hero, Potter. That sounds like too safe a lifestyle for a hero." Draco wanted to reach out, to pat him on the back. He felt such sympathy that even the green polyester fabric wasn't much of a deterrent.

"I won't be a hero then. I'll just be me. Just me. No more of this. No more." Then he erupted into sobs, his body shaking at the force of it, and Draco went to him, wrapped his arms around his frame that seemed so tiny and frail, like a robin in the palm of his hand.

"We're going home, Harry," he said into Harry's hair, and Harry nodded. Then Draco Apparated them away.

* * *

After he'd sedated Harry with some Calming Draught, he firecalled Pansy to see how the clean-up had gone.

"Draco, what were you thinking? You Disapparated in front of Muggles? I had to Obliviate…"

"Potter was freaking out. He was emanating magic! He exploded. Literally. Wasted a mile of beach."

"Wait!" Pansy yelled. "Hold it. It happened again?" She looked frantic through the flames.

"Again? What do you mean again?"

"I'm Flooing Luna—"

"What do you think you're doing? Why are you bringing her into this?"

"Sit down and do what you're told, Draco." She cut the connection, the last image he had was of her glare. Draco glared right back.

* * *

Only a few minutes passed before Pansy's office again bulged with humanity. After bribing some of the rebel faction into dealing with the obsidian beach, Pansy had called Luna and she had seen fit to include her husband, and Teddy was profoundly grateful he had been invited as well. The Dissident was growling at everyone, hiding himself in a corner. Every question Teddy made about Harry's whereabouts and Harry's health was met with a deeper and deeper scowl.

"This happened before." Malfoy spun on his heels and looked accusingly at Luna after she spoke.

What had happened before? Teddy turned his attention from Malfoy to face her and hope for more illumination. He still wasn't sure what had stirred up the anthill and so he gave his godfather's friends his devoted attention.

"It'd happened that year in July," Luna said and then with a spark of recollection, Teddy remembered _it_. It _was_ July, the balmiest, hottest July where even the thought of moving broke a sweat out on your brow. He'd been young, but the details of that day, details he'd so painstakingly filed away, like any trauma, slowly emerged from the basement of his memories.

It was July. It was terribly humid and Harry had killed his best friends.

"What? You mean he killed his little friends?" Draco asked following Luna's terse account. Teddy looked at him crosswise. How could he not know?

"What did you think happened?" Pansy asked.

"I've no idea!"

"How could you not know?" She sounded angry and Teddy felt relieved that he wasn't the only one shocked by Malfoy's complete ignorance.

"Well, is it public knowledge?" Obviously Malfoy was angry too and the two Slytherins faced each other and Teddy, Neville and Luna remained huddled together for protection in case anything came flying their way.

"No… but you know everything going on with your father and that's not public knowledge."

"Well yeah, I'm a bit focused there." Malfoy paced and gestured frantically with his hands. He was like a storm trapped in a cage.

"When you talked about Ginny earlier…" Luna interrupted. "I thought you were trying to be mean," she said in a quiet voice.

"Well, of course I would wonder where his girlfriend was. Those four were inseparable and you go and dump loony boy on me," he said.

"Oh. Well, I can see your confusion then," Luna said. "But Ginny hadn't been his girlfriend for a long while before that. After the war, Harry'd finally got to know himself better."

Malfoy looked down at the floor and Teddy was shocked to see some sort of acknowledgement there, some resigned acceptance to the entire situation. He was shocked because his brief acquaintance with Malfoy didn't harbour any illusions of a caring man, but also because he suddenly saw Malfoy _as_ a man, not as this great rebel to be adored from afar.

"Didn't it happen after a speech Lucius was giving?" When Neville spoke, it was so rare that everyone's attention was drawn to him.

"Yes," Pansy said in thought.

"I was there." His voice was soft and quiet and Teddy remembered. He, Neville and Harry and then Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all there, watching the speech from the rear of the crowd. He was young, nine or ten, and he'd wanted to spend time with Uncle Harry so they took him along. Harry had been too busy, and Teddy had wrestled with Ginny, trying to break free to be by Harry's side.

"Harry'd done that ritual that he developed, the one to break Malfoy's spell. People were angry and it almost looked like a mob might rally against your father. When he'd left, most of the people followed him. So then it was just us, in the street with a few stragglers, mainly those who didn't quite understand what was going on."

There weren't many people there, but Teddy wasn't paying attention to them. He remembered he was working on animal noses, something Ginny had told him his mom was an expert at. First he tried pig, then dog and he'd had a monkey nose when he'd heard Harry cry out.

"One of Malfoy's men sneaked up and cursed him." Neville's voice cracked and Luna wrapped him in her arms. With that strength from his wife and a few deep breaths of air, he continued. "None of us saw it. I remember I was watching Teddy, he had this great ape nose." His words were hollow. "And then Harry yelled." The air in the office was hot and used up.

All those years ago Harry'd yelled as a ball of black mist swirled around him. He had gripped at his throat, like he couldn't breathe and Teddy'd freaked out. He remembered calling out for Harry over and over, but then Neville had grabbed him and they Disapparated and that was the last he'd seen of his godfather since a month ago.

"I took Teddy, and the others stayed behind to contain the spell that was attacking Harry. That's all I know. Well, when I didn't hear back from anyone I returned. It was hours later and there were charred bodies all over the damned place." Neville was crying now and he gripped Luna back. She hadn't been there; she hadn't seen the atrocity, the ash husks of people left behind like those victims in Pompeii. Teddy hadn't seen them either, but he'd always had a good imagination and one night after he'd finally heard about the bodies, with one whole and alive Harry unconscious in the middle, he'd locked himself in a closet and morphed into what his inventive mind supplied him to be a body composed of ash. He couldn't be there for Harry when he was younger, but he would try to understand when he was older.

"Harry was there, alive, but not conscious and there were Aurors. I couldn't do anything. I tried to intervene, but they took him away and that was the last time I saw him. And then Luna found out where he was and … well, you know the rest." He blew his nose in a handkerchief and Luna squeezed him tight.

"So, Potter blows up and char broils people … When? When he's stressed? At any inopportune time? There has to be a trigger," said Malfoy.

"I've no idea. It could be anything," Pansy said. "But I expect you can discover the cause, Draco. It's your gift from the gods, to figure out the shite none of us can."

Malfoy nodded and seemed to have divined some answer in his mind. "Fine. I'll do this. I'm not sure how, but I will cure him and he will tell us how to stop Lucius' curse and I can finally rid myself of this shit."

"Wait," Neville said. "I have something." He dug down into his pocket and pulled out a brown lump. Teddy leaned forward to study it. It was oval, about three inches long and had ribbing up and down the sides. "This is a Knei Weed seed. It is very rare, so take good care of it." He put the seed into Malfoy's hand. "And here." He gave him a piece of parchment, too. "Here are the directions on how to grow it."

"What's Knei Weed do?" Malfoy asked.

"It can flush out mind control on people. It is the stamen of the plant, so you have to care for it until it blooms," Neville explained. "Technically it is an _axis magika_; it pulls together the mind and magic in individuals where they have been displaced. This might help Harry."

"Great, how long will that take? A year? Two?" Teddy felt that Malfoy needed to be a bit more thankful; Merlin knew _he_ would be happy for anything that could cure his godfather. Malfoy seemed to have a perpetual sneer to join with that perpetual chip on his shoulder.

"About six months. It's a fast growing plant, but you have to follow the planting instructions exactly and keep an eye on the harvest time. It's all in the instructions." Neville made a halted gesture towards the sheet in Draco's hand, now gripped in a weak fist.

"Follow the instructions. I think I can do that. Well I'm off. I have to make sure wonder boy hasn't blown anything else up. I can't believe you thought it wise to break him free and dump him on me."

Luna shrugged. "I saw no harm."

"Yeah, and now he's explosive and I'm the one housing the freak," Draco growled.

"Listen, Malfoy," Teddy burst in. He couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't Harry's fault. "If you don't want him, just send him to me. I'll watch out for him. I've got nowhere to take him and I can't cure him, but I'll fucking treat him with more dignity and kindness than you ever could." He'd known The Dissident was a rebel, was a loner, but now he really understood why. Nobody could ever be as good as Draco Pure-Blood Malfoy. Nobody could ever touch him, be worthy, offer him aid or request it. The man was as full of himself as a runway model and Teddy was sick of his narcissism and over _engorgio_-ed ego.

Malfoy frowned at Teddy, who stood tall, surreptitiously giving himself a few inches and bulk. "Don't worry about your precious godfather," he said with superiority and disdain. "I will cure him. He will tell me the secret to stopping my father's enthralling curse. And all you happy Gryffindors will live happily ever after in a commune of free love wearing rose-tinted glasses, oblivious to the work _others_ are doing to keep you safe and happy."

Teddy's jaw dropped as Malfoy twirled around, his long coat fluttering at his heels as he stomped away. He looked to Luna, then Neville and finally his eyes landed on Pansy, who looked slightly embarrassed.

"He gets like this," she said. Teddy snorted.

* * *

He'd almost come unhinged at that Lupin kid, mainly because there had been a dusting of truth to his words. Honestly, Draco didn't hate Harry anymore, but he was more than a little cautious about someone who could level a half mile in any direction like a combustion grenade. So, as he began examining Harry the next morning, he couldn't help but be a little more guarded with his touch.

"How old were you when you first killed somebody, Draco?" Harry asked, oscillating his legs where they dangled over the edge of the table. Forward, backward, forward, back. The beat was steady and calming.

Ignoring Harry's offhand question, he continued his survey of Harry's current statistics. All of his magical levels remained in flux, though his power had been practically exhausted. Draco guessed that there would not be another devastating episode within the hour it would take for him to check over Harry and he unconsciously released more of his tension.

"Well?" Harry asked again and kneed him in the thigh.

"I was older than you were, you berk," Draco answered as he tapped Harry five times on the crown of his head with his wand. Harry's eyes scrunched each time, reminding Draco of a cat getting patted. "It wasn't until I found out what my father was doing that I first realized the bad people needed to be taken away, that you couldn't wait for them to go on their own. I decided I would have to deal with them if the world I hoped to see would ever come about." Draco was a self-proclaimed vigilante.

"I didn't want to kill anyone," Harry said, looking down into his lap, his legs swaying forward and back. "I didn't want to kill Voldemort, but something forced my hand. Whether it was him or Dumbledore… I've never been sure." He gave a self-depreciating laugh. "And now I'm a mass murderer. I've the power to kill without any intention and only in brief moments of frightful clarity do I fucking realize what I've done. What a cruel fucking thing fate is. Destiny. It's all evil. It's all a load of crap."

Taken aback, Draco turned away from the hunched man. He felt embarrassed at the proclamation, at the song of truth echoing in the words, at the pain in Harry's voice. He wasn't the type to placate, to console, but something within him long ossified struggled to come to life.

"Come on, Draco, let's get happy." The words were chipper, lofty. The moment was gone and Draco turned again, this time facing Harry with his usual condemnation.

"And how do you propose to do that, Potter?" He finished his analysis and eased away from the awkward dramatics.

"Oh, I can think of a few things," Harry said as he slid off the table, taking two long, slow steps towards Draco.

"None of that." Draco retreated, holding his hands before him, keeping horny-as-a-goat Potter at bay.

"Why? You took away Sally. I think you owe me." Harry stood a hands-breadth away and Draco could feel his warm breath puff across tense skin, could smell the scent of strawberry jam.

"Harry," Draco said warningly, and Harry smiled, leaned in, and kissed him.

Shocked, Draco stood dumb when Harry's lips touched his and caressed them. It lasted only a moment, but in that moment, slight as it was, some notion of Draco's, some previously practical thought became bent and senseless and he wanted those lips back on his.

He cleared his throat.

Harry looked him over, eyes widening at Draco's crotch and he raised his eyebrows in a surprisingly threatening way. "I see you got happy," he purred, and Draco's face burned phone box red.

Then Harry's features thawed and all sense of 'going to fuck you dead' slipped away leaving only the dubiously sane behind and Draco whimpered at the loss.

"I'm busy, Potter. Get the fuck out." He pushed past Harry and began organizing his potions ingredients by colour. Black ashwinder skin. Black eyeballs of the skurtim toad. Black teeth of the kajo lizard. Black intentions and black, oh so black, opinions of himself.

How could he think these things? Think of Harry pressed against him, think of a _man!_ and not—here was the real deathblow—not think of her.

"But…"

"Leave."

"Okay." Footsteps led slowly away. Brown oak bark. Brown fruit bat fur. "But can't you tell? It's a day for dreams to come true."

Draco knocked a jar of muck over and watched as it slid across the marble counter and dripped to the floor.

* * *

Despite all the potions and charms of Draco's vast armoury of potential cures, Harry's curse slipped through his scrutiny, elusive in its complexity, and Draco began to put more and more stock into Longbottom's weed. Four days earlier he and Harry had prepared the pot, cracked a runespoor egg into the dirt and mixed it in along with mandrake root shavings and plopped the seed into the soil.

It had already peeked up through the dirt, though a bout of shyness seemed to have overtaken it because its growth stalled. Harry suggested it needed more light, but Longbottom's directions said partial shade and Draco wasn't about to screw this up by taking Harry's instruction into account. He hadn't done any better in Herbology than Draco had.

"This little plant is trying so hard to grow, so hard to live." Harry was squatting next to the pot, dressed in shorts, a ratty T-shirt and fluffy socks as was usual for his lazy lifestyle, and he reached out to touch the green sprig emerging from the loose soil.

"Don't touch it. Knowing your luck, you'll inadvertently curse it just by breathing on it. Move away, you catastrophe." Harry had some driving impetus to get his fingers into everything.

"I'm a catastrophe?" he asked, turning his attention to Draco instead of the invaluable plant.

"You're a disaster."

Harry laughed and two seconds later, sobered. "What do you think is really worth living for?" he asked. Draco, who'd begun to get used to these non-sequiturs, said nothing.

"When people die," Harry tried another angle, "worms eat out their eyes. And their nose goes pretty quick, too."

Draco felt like his last ounce of 'What the Fuck' had been used up. Finally, he said, "Not wizards. We put ourselves into a status tomb to avoid the whole disgusting business of decay."

"I want to decay. I want the worms to eat me so that I can be a part of the world again. In everything." Longing touched ever fibre of Harry's being and he irradiated the room with it.

"But, you are not going to die," Draco helpfully pointed out.

Harry turned back to the weed, avoiding Draco's gaze. "I'm just saying… And yes, someday I will die. What do you think happens to us?"

"Status tomb."

"No, not our bodies, but us, our souls. Our spirit." He pushed a finger into the soil near the edge of the pot and wriggled it in deep, the little leaf luckily out of harms way.

"I suspect that we move onto the next stage," Draco said with a shrug. His voice had grown soft.

"To the next great adventure." Harry finally looked up with a strange intensity. "Do you believe in Heaven and Hell?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Muggle concepts and not all Muggles even believe in them," Draco said offhandedly.

Harry scoffed. "So, what do _you_ believe then? What do you think is next?"

Draco stopped and thought about it. He'd been raised speaking to portraits and ghosts of the dead. People lived and then were gone, but often there was something special, something eternal that was left behind. Was there something else, something other than enchanted ink and ethereal spirits afraid to go on? "Harry, I've no idea, but the spirit does exist and in most cases it goes somewhere, somewhere we haven't quite yet discovered. Maybe those wizards in the Department of Mysteries know, but I know I sure as hell don't and it wasn't passed down from the wisdom of my ancestors."

"Do you think that that somewhere is good or bad?" Harry asked, curiosity mingling with worry.

"I don't go with karma, Harry. It's an old fashioned notion. I don't think it's good or bad, like Earth isn't good or bad. I think it just is and we go there and we aren't meant to know or understand, because then what would be the reason for this life?"

With a nod, Harry stood and approached Draco. He seized the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. Draco saw his scars and rib bones highlighting his torso. He'd always looked malnourished. Harry jumped up and sat on the examination table that Draco had long given up on configuring back into the stool, ready for Draco's prodding and spells.

"So, can you fix me, doc?" Harry asked through a yawn. This daily routine of examining Harry and then testing a potion or spell had become all too familiar and Draco had become irresolute, not expecting anything new, anything promising.

"Don't call me doc. It's awfully Muggle. Anyway, I'm not a Healer." He swirled his wand over Harry's head and a cascade of blue magic whorled over the man, turning green in some places, red in others.

"So, you still hate all that's Muggle? Despise filthy Mudbloods…"

Draco didn't stop to hear what else Harry might have said; instead he grabbed his throat and with a tight grip, pulled him close. Face to face Draco snarled at Harry. "Don't say that nasty word in my presence, Potter. I almost ma…" Suddenly all fight drained out of him and he pushed Harry away, forcing the other man to brace himself or fall from the table.

Aghast, Draco gaped at Harry, but there wasn't any shock or admonition in his face; he just had that stupidly open look that caused Draco, at times, to want to confide in him, treat him like a friend. He cocked his head to one side, totally unfazed by Draco's attack. "Really?" he asked, so casually, so gently. "Tell me about it."

And Draco did.

* * *

They'd met after Draco'd graduated and gone on a world tour like all Malfoy children of age do. Even though his father was still caged behind Azkaban walls, his mother had insisted on the trip, and so, with reluctance, Draco went.

He'd visited wizarding communities across Europe, Asia and North America, learning of their cultures and their magic. He discovered while every community held pure-blood pride, none of them held such disdain for the Muggle-borns that Voldemort had preached.

And yes, there still existed a pure-blood superiority complex, but in most cases the magic was cherished and the people who wielded it as well.

They'd met at some concert of a Muggle band he'd never heard of. He'd heard Gustav, the announcer, order him to "call now" on the Muggle wireless and he couldn't seem to disobey. Within minutes he'd won tickets and later he found out so had she. It was the first in a long list of pleasant coincidences.

At intermission he was drinking from a bottle of water and had felt appropriately appeased for paying three pounds for it when she'd bumped into him and said, "Ah, Merlin. I'm sorry," then immediately began to sputter over her slip.

She was beautiful with golden hair like his mother's but none of that cool aloofness. Right then, he'd discovered how desirable warmth was.

"No problem. I'm quite familiar with Merlin myself," he said, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

She looked at him speculatively. "What? So you're into English myths?" she asked in a strained tone.

"Well, I've got a little English in me anyway." And he winked.

That evening they'd gone to a high cliff that overlooked a lake. Draco found out that she was a Quidditch player and a top student in Transfiguration and was now working for a shipping company that transported specialized wizarding foods like licorice wands and pumpkin juice around the world.

"I like my job," she told him as the wind played with her hair. Draco forgot his father, forgot about the Death Eaters, forgot about breathing as he watched her talk, listened to her words, touched her at every opportunity. "But I miss things like flying." She held out her arms like she could fly and Draco knew ingrained within her was the spirit of an eagle and he longed to see her soar.

"Do you ever wish you could fly without a broom, like a bird or a dragon?" she asked shuffling closer to the edge of the cliff. Draco reached out for her. She faced him with a carefree laugh. "Ever want to jump?"

"What? No! Come back from there. You don't have a broom." Draco'd never felt nervous for anyone like this before. Never felt that need to protect.

"Oh, come here." She grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the precipice and as he looked over the edge all he saw was open space. "Have you ever just wanted to jump?" she asked again.

She sounded so serious he felt inclined to answer truthfully. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."

"Good!" she laughed. "Now I know your truth."

He'd looked upon her in wonder and they spent every moment they could together until his father wanted to meet this lovely woman who'd captured Draco's heart. Unfortunately, though Draco had seen the dark side of the moon, he never expected such betrayal from family and Lucius took her away from him forever.

"I didn't take you for the type to believe in miracles," Harry said when Draco's story ran out of words.

"What?"

"You sounded happy. Genuinely happy," he explained. Draco grunted.

"She sounded quirky," he continued with a grin. "I like quirky."

"Because _you're_ quirky."

"Yeah, I know." Then Harry sobered up and asked the question Draco dreaded answering. "What happened? To her?"

"My father. He had her killed."

* * *

"So, he came onto you again," Pansy asked. Reclined against the door frame to his lab door, she listened as Draco told her everything of the last few weeks, while she thrilled him with events going on in the world out there. People disappearing, the censors, the restriction on marriage licenses. He'd been pacing, wearing out the flagstones beneath the bottles of dead and pickled things.

"Multiple times."

"Did you do anything with him?" Curious wench.

"Oh, so eager… He kissed me." It felt like an odd confession, like a letdown.

"And…"

"And nothing. He kissed me. End of tantalizing tale. Go read some smut or something, Pansy."

"Well, you don't seem up in arms about it. You seem… accepting."

"Whatever. But I am no closer to a cure than I was. We've been cooped up in my home for two months with nothing to go on. He doesn't sleep; he's forever yawning, and I have to constantly guard against his mood swings." A large bottle of cat tails caught his attention and he watched them float weightlessly in brine. "The loony, the slut and worst of all," he looked over at Pansy, "that serious one, the one where he knows exactly what he's done. Now that one I have trouble with." He pulled out his stool and landed on it without any grace.

"I haven't found out anything about countering father's spell." He hated this feeling of failure. He hated that he was babbling and that Pansy had but to lean there with her arms crossed and nod once or twice and his verbal drivel continued.

"He seems obsessed with death," he told her.

"Well keep digging, dig deep. There has to be a trigger, a switch inside him that will unlock what he knows."

"Such compassion, Pansy," Draco said.

She stared at him, her head tilted forward. "This isn't about compassion or fixing Potter for his own good. Don't get lost in whatever communal bliss you might have fallen into here, Draco. We are after a way to stop your father, and that is all. Don't lose sight of our goal. Got it?"

Swallowing his anger, he nodded. "Of course, Pansy dear. How could I forget? Potter is a means to an end. I know that." But he didn't. He really didn't.

She shook her head at him. "Good," she said, but her tone belied her words. "I'm going. Good luck."

* * *

Something roused Draco out of a fitful dream where Harry and an inflatable ewe were running down the streets of a Muggle village, side by side, and the people they passed melted into piles of brightly coloured wax. Yellows mixed with reds and blues with greens and soon the streets were full of a sepia stain. His eyes fluttered open and within his field of vision was Harry, sitting on the edge of his bed watching him with a finger poised over his nose.

"You better go to your room and get to bed," Draco said as he rolled over, evading the touch that Harry seemed to constantly want to lay on him. Did Harry touch him often while he slept? No wonder the brat seemed so exhausted.

"It's okay, I love watching you sleep," Harry said in a low whisper. The bed tilted, but Draco refused to look over at him. The dream still stuck to him. People melting as Harry ran by, laughing, sucking on a blood pop.

"Is that why you're tired all the time, you're watching me sleep?" he murmured into his pillow, gripping it close to him.

Harry chuckled and then said, "I don't mind being so tired."

"Harry," Draco began, finally shifting to look over at him but the wild man had leaped off the bed and was darting out the room, saying, "I'll have breakfast ready at seven!"

Seven? Draco usually didn't rise until eight, but today he got up early and looked at the gourmet spread that Harry had laid out. There were sausages and bacon, eggs, beans and fried tomatoes. Plus there was pumpkin and orange juice as well as a plate of éclairs. Where he'd gotten all the food was a mystery, but Draco dug in nonetheless.

"Good?" Harry asked through a mouthful of beans, and Draco nodded.

After a few minutes of blessedly quiet chewing, Harry broke the silence with another of his out of the blue questions. "Are you happy?"

Draco set down his fork. "I suppose. This isn't a come on is it?" he asked, remembering their last discussion on happiness.

Harry shook his head, then asked, "If I were dying, would you be doing anything different?"

"You're not dying," Draco simply said. This was perhaps the thousandth conversation they'd had like this and he worried at this fixation.

"How do you know? You don't know what's wrong with me," he pointed out with a very solemn shake to his head. "And I'm… I'm just not ready for it. I don't think I'm ready for it."

Draco took in one deep breath and let it out before he looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "You are cursed."

"Yes," Harry said, drawing out the word, nodding to urge Draco on.

"…And you had a bit of Voldemort in residence for a few years."

Harry pursed his lips together and gave a short, quick nod.

"Plus," Draco continued, "You've always been a little squirrelly."

Laughter filled the room and Draco sighed in relief.

"Maybe what we need is a miracle," Harry said after sucking on an orange slice. Bits of orange flesh were stuck between his front teeth.

"Miracles aren't real… If wishes were fishes…" Draco mumbled.

"I'm willing to wait for a miracle. I mean… Look at us. We're alive. Pretty miraculous, that. You and Christine… miracle. Magic and death and birth and life. Miracles, all of them."

"If you say so." If Draco agreed, maybe Harry would stop the line of thought. Then the air changed, became charged and he looked up at Harry who'd gone solemn, sadness wrapped around him like a straight jacket.

"They say that love is watching someone die." He swallowed. "They're all gone. I've no parents. Dumbledore's dead. Hermione, Ron and Ginny, all gone." He looked longingly at Draco. "So, who is going to watch me die?"

"You aren't going to die, Potter. You said it already, it isn't your time."

"I wish everyone was still alive, or that I could talk to them. I wish I'd fallen in love. I wish I'd lived a normal life."

"You wish for impossible things, Potter."

"What? Why is love impossible? You were in love once."

"True, but minor point. That love is gone and I'm stuck here with a crazy man."

Harry's eyes, downcast as he turned and left the room, betrayed nothing; it was his silence, his lack of a smile that betrayed him totally.

Later in the day, he found Harry watching a nature program on the television. Draco came up to stand behind the sofa and watched as wild dogs split off from the pack and surrounded the impala. Harry sat on the edge of the cushion and inched closer and closer to the couch's edge, hands gripped in his lap. Finally the impala had nowhere to go and the dogs descended, gripping its throat, ripping out the flesh from its tender belly and Draco looked away, glancing down at Harry and saw that he was crying.

"It's so terrible."

"It's natural. If the dogs didn't kill, they would die."

Harry looked up at Draco, his eyes watery, streaks lining his cheeks. "Who designed it all, Draco? Who would create such a cruel system?"

"I don't know? God, evolution, the ancients. I just don't know."

"Well I hate it. I hate it," and he curled into himself, clutching at the throw pillow as he whimpered into the night. "Why does everything have to kill? Why does everybody thirst for blood?"

"There's life and power in blood. All anything wants to do is survive," Draco said. He walked around the couch and shut off the TV. Looking down he saw that Harry kept his face averted, eyes closed. His reaction was so strong, Draco thought that death and living constantly stirred his mind, and he guessed that it probably did. It all made him sad.

"Harry." He sat on the couch next to Harry and patted his hip. "Come on, why not get to bed?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I don't want to go into that room. It's lonely." He sniffed.

"It's not like you spend any time in there anyway," Draco said, laughing to lighten the mood.

Harry stirred and finally cracked an eye to look Draco in the face. "Can I stay in your room? With you?"

_No!_ Draco almost said, but he held his tongue. Feelings flashed that stirred his body, memories of when Harry'd kissed him, and he tried to ignore those and convince himself that was _not_ why he was considering letting Harry sleep in his bed with him. He didn't want to take advantage of Harry, but having a warm body, if just lying next to him, seemed considerably less lonely and right now he was feeling terribly alone, too.

"Okay. But keep to your side of the bed."

Harry looked at him and Draco was surprised to see actual shock on his features instead of glee or guilt or some typical Potter emotion. "Yes?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes."

Then the smile broke out, the room seemed less dim, and the two men walked down the hallway together towards Draco's room.

With little fanfare they lay side by side in Draco's large bed. If Harry was a little too close and if his cold foot had nudged him once or twice, he wasn't about to throw him out for it. And eventually, on the edge of sleep, Draco felt one arm snake over his chest and a nose burrow into his neck and this was all okay, too. Briefly he thought of Christine and he loved her, oh how he had loved her, but some things had a habit of staying alive even if the reason for it had long been buried.

* * *

Months passed and the Knei Weed grew from a twig to an appreciably sized plant, Draco's concoctions failed at every turn and Harry always slept with him at night. Every night, just as he was drifting off, Harry would wrap his arm around him and every morning, Draco would wake up with Harry half crawled on top, snoring away. Part of him was glad he was finally sleeping, but the other part of him, the part that twitched at the contact, cursed him.

He'd mellowed out, though, and his mood swings came less and less. Pansy would come over to observe him as Harry read a book or watched the telly. Unsure of exactly what she was looking for as she watched the mad hatter, Draco asked her one day.

"So, loony Potter's that interesting?"

"He seems sane," she said, her brows pinched together in contemplation.

"He's pretending."

Harry looked up from his novel and gave them a toothy grin as he lifted up his first two fingers. At first Draco thought he was flipping them off, but his hand was turned around the wrong way. Then Harry said, "Peace Brother," and Pansy huffed.

"I see."

Draco nodded.

"Any news at all?" she sighed. Next to Draco, Pansy wanted Harry cured even more than his friends seemed to.

"No. I haven't found any potions or spells to either jar his memory or cure his madness. He's less annoying, though."

They watched as Harry flipped a page in the book, read, flipped a page in the book. The fire was out because it was the height of summer, though the room was pleasantly cool nestled in its embrace of stone.

"He's been collecting things," Draco said and at those words Harry dropped his book and leaped from the couch.

"Come on. I'll show you!" he said as he ran from the room, slipping along the floor in his socks.

"And I thought he seemed sane?" Pansy said, shaking her head. Draco snorted.

"Sometimes his calmness can be deceiving."

They followed Harry down the hallway into one of the empty bedrooms.

"What do you think of this?" Harry held his arms over a pile of broken, mismatched and bizarre _stuff,_ and Pansy and Draco looked upon the collection of what Draco defined as debris. He looked over at Harry, who was extremely proud and happy, and he didn't have the heart to tell the man what he really thought.

"What is it?" Pansy asked, looking at Draco, but Harry answered.

"My art. My empire of precious things."

Pansy looked away muttering how one man's junk was still junk; Draco laughed. He couldn't agree more.

"Where did he get all this?" Pansy asked, and Draco shrugged, watching Harry organize some bolts and nuts into a model of the Eiffel Tower.

"No idea. It just shows up," he said.

"Well, I have to take what I can and turn it into something spectacular for you," Harry said to Draco with that innocent tilt to his head.

"Why?" Draco asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Because you're special to me," and Harry smiled, crooked and brilliant and absurdly infectious. Feeling his own lips threaten to turn up, Draco left the room with a snort. Pansy followed.

"He's smitten," Pansy said.

"Yeah. He is," Draco agreed.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "And… you don't mind? I remember when you about threw him into a pit of lava when he came onto you only a few months ago."

Draco shook his head in wonder and then smiled to himself. He couldn't wait till Harry was cured, then who knew what might happen between them.

"I'm going out!" Harry yelled at them from the entryway.

"Fine," Draco called, then to Pansy, "he's like a cat. He finds a sunbeam and can sit in it for hours."

"You like him," she said after careful scrutiny. "You've moved on?" She spoke softly and slowly, as if afraid to startle Draco out of a confession.

"I don't know. Yes, I like him. He… He grows on you, like an ugly van Gogh you walk by every day. Eventually you forget how contrasting its parts are and just enjoy it for its whole. And Christine—I will always love her. But she's gone. I think it's about time I get busy with life again."

"Well, I must say I wouldn't have picked Potter for you, but you seem somehow happy, somehow you fit better in this world, like you've found your place. And for that I'm thankful." She smiled and threw her arms around him. He wrapped his own arms around her and was thankful that she'd always been there for him, through each and every one of his own moments of insanity.

After she left, Draco went out to look for Harry. He was sitting on a boulder staring up into the sun at full noon. He walked up and waved his hand before Harry's eyes.

"You fool, you sit here gazing into the sun, blinding yourself when you don't even see what the world is doing around you," Draco said, the warmth of his voice taking out the bite of the words.

"I like the light. I'll leave looking into the pits of hell to those who can stomach such things," Harry explained. Then he scooted over and Draco sat next to him. Harry's hand, of its own mind, inched its way into Draco's lap and entwined itself with his fingers. They sat there like that, holding hands, as the sun raced across the sky, pulling the darkness behind it.

* * *

The Knei Weed's first bud grew more each day. With ever building anticipation, Harry and Draco would watch it grow fuller and longer, just waiting for it to burst open in brilliant purples and blues. As it was now, the bud was approximately an inch in length and Longbottom had told them it would be about the size of the seed before it would finally open.

Draco guessed at its current rate of growth, it would bloom in less than a week, and then the stamen would hopefully cure Harry where Draco couldn't.

They'd moved the plant into the dining area where it got a little more light. Since then it had grown additional leaves and eventually the bud. Apparently, Harry's instinct hadn't failed him. Sometimes they would just sit at the table and watch the vines grow.

And Harry would continue to espouse random nuggets of Potter wisdom as time was wasted on waiting.

"You know," Harry said as he slurped a chocolate shake through a thin straw, "everything we do is a sad little parody of life. I mean look at us, we go to the office, make love, raise a family, take care of our pets, drink milkshakes… it's not real living." He looked over at Draco and Draco recognised this as one of those rare moments where Harry's lucidity sparked more clearly than even the sanest man he knew. Perhaps it wasn't the fact that Harry was insane, but that his brain's scales couldn't keep balanced, that it let escape all of its lunacy in a big bout and then swiftly shifted to the clearest mind until more lunacy built up and tilted the equilibrium all over again. Draco realized Harry's mind was balanced like a Japanese deer chaser.

"Draco?" Harry asked, watching him intently over those moments it took for Draco to have his own introspection. "You still with me? This stuff isn't catching is it?" Harry smiled, a smile untainted and warm. A smile from someone infinitely compassionate who loved everyone without any restraint.

Frustration clenched at his belly and Draco wanted to war against the injustice of life and death and curses so dark that they could eat such an amazing person alive.

"No," Draco said, his voice so soft Harry leaned forward. "It's not catching." And would that be such a bad thing? If along with Harry's madness, his heart's thriving pulse would spread throughout humanity bringing on a new age.

"It's all imitation," Harry said, still staring at Draco.

"What's all imitation?" he asked, confused, wondering if he missed something Harry'd said in his musing.

"The air, it's all imitation air."

They stared at each other and Draco swore he saw the vine grow out of the corner of his eye. "So you say, Harry." Harry grinned and sucked on his straw some more.

Only a few more days. Draco could wait a few days.

And then, it was ready.

* * *

He stared at the blossom. It was more pink than purple and the blue was so deep it looked black. There were five petals, a magical number, and in the middle were five stamens with their anthers perched on the ends and the swollen pistil in the centre.

It was beautiful.

With tweezers Draco plucked a stamen and dropped it into the potion he'd prepared in anticipation for this very moment. Harry stood nearby, practically vibrating with expectation.

They'd decided that Harry would take the potion, get his crazy brain cured, and then they would contact everyone else. No need to actually bring everyone in until the cracks were all plastered over.

The potion turned a shade of pink, exactly the same as the petals, and puffed out a wisp of smoke the colour of ripe strawberries. It had a faint scent of bubblegum.

"Is that it?" Harry asked. "Is it ready?"

Draco swirled the goblet, mixing the potion completely, and then handed it to Harry, who took it eagerly. He stared into the swirling depths as if the truth or his future were held in the twisting fluid. Then he lifted the goblet to his lips and drank it down in one continuous gulp.

Anxiously, Draco watched, his breath a long forgotten luxury as Harry lowered the glass and set it on the table. There was no outward sign that anything had changed. Harry's lips were pulled into a tight 'o' and his tongue darted out to run across his lower lip.

"Not bad," he said, and Draco lost hope. It hadn't worked.

But he continued to watch as Harry looked about himself with curiosity. He seemed confused, unsure of where he was or what had just happened. His facial muscles danced as he went from shock to worry to excitement. Finally, he noticed Draco standing there and when his eyes locked with Draco's, joy rang out within him.

The madness. It was gone. Gone from his eyes. Gone from his smile. Gone like dew in the morning sun, silently and without any exhibition.

"Draco," Harry said in wonder. It was a complete transformation and Draco was at a loss. He didn't know whether to sigh in relief, cheer his success, or step forward and take Harry into his arms.

"How do you feel?" Draco asked, taking out his wand to run the medical spells that recorded Harry's biological and magical signs.

"Okay, I guess. Odd. Really odd." He watched as Draco's wand passed over him once, twice, and finally he batted it away and did the thing that Draco, himself, had desired.

"We can worry about that later," he said, and kissed him.

It was worlds away from the kiss Harry'd given him months before. That kiss kept him up at nights dreaming and hoping and wishing for those miracles Harry always talked about. This kiss _was_ that miracle and was the future and held every promise the pure existence of living ever evoked. Draco fell into it and hoped to never be found again.

"Maybe…" Harry said through bruised lips and stolen breaths, "we should," kiss and a nibble, "go to your room." Then he pulled away, looked hard at Draco and smiled. Not brilliant and not inane and not goofy. It was a smile that held impossible things, impossible things that were now there for Draco's taking.

"Yeah." It was the only word his addled brain could formulate. Hand in hand the two men jogged to Draco's room, the same room they'd been sharing for months now. They passed through the door, shedding clothing as they kissed and touched and drowned themselves in each other. With a bounce they landed on the bed and Draco felt like laughing, giggling at his good fortune.

But he never did believe in miracles and impossible things were just that, impossible.

Harry jerked in his arms, thrashed and Draco let him go, giving him space at this odd reaction. Had he tickled him? But one look at Harry, convulsing and foaming at the mouth, told Draco that this had nothing to do with foreplay and everything to do with something very, very bad.

"Harry!" he cried out, brushing away the purple spit around his mouth. "Harry!" This couldn't be happening. Couldn't be. Everything he ever wished for was always ripped away, could the world be truly ruled by something so evil?

Naked and gasping for a clear mind, Draco spelled Harry to his lab and placed him on the examination table. He'd quit spasming and the froth stopped erupting from his lips, but he called for Pansy anyway.

"Something is terribly wrong. Get over here," he demanded of her through the Floo.

"Draco, why are you naked? I think that you can figure out what…"

"Shut up! It's that fucking weed. I made the potion and Harry's having a bad reaction. Get over here!" He ran to his room to grab some trousers, and was buttoning them as Pansy emerged from the Floo.

"Where is he?"

"Lab."

She had a black bag in hand and Draco suddenly felt less frantic, less alone with her here. Efficiently she pulled out her tools and wand and began casting status spells as well as diagnostic charms. She uncorked a few potions, succinctly giving Draco directions on how and when to administer them.

"Get him to swallow this now. In ten minutes, give him the black potion and immediately drop three drops of Turgier on his tongue." Gently he held up Harry's head as he poured the first potion in his mouth, rubbing at his throat to get him to swallow.

Clear, green eyes opened and looked up. "Draco?" The word had no strength to it, no backing of that tremendous will he knew Harry had hidden away.

"I'm here," he said, brushing his fingertips along Harry's clammy skin. Pansy was mumbling to herself, but Draco tuned her out in favour of giving Harry his entire attention.

"I'm dying," Harry said plainly.

"No…"

"I feel like nothing I've ever done was right. How can anyone forgive me? Ron, Hermione, Ginny? I'm not ready to die yet," he cried. "Draco! I'm not ready to go. I'm not ready. I did not want to die this way!"

"I'm here, and you're not dying." He gripped Harry's hand firmly. He wasn't dying, was he? Stupid fucking Longbottom. Inept idiot. He began cataloguing a long list of tortures, but then Harry spoke again.

"We're outside of time, you know. We don't belong anywhere. The Dissident and the Crazy Man. We should've died a long time ago, you and I. This world is not made for us, cold and alien. It would have been easier, made so much more sense than trying to fit in and make a life here. I should have died with Voldemort. My time…my time was then." He coughed weakly.

"Stop," Draco said, and then something dripped off his nose onto Harry's cheek and he was alarmed to discover he was crying.

"Was I good enough? Will I be forgiven?"

"Oh Harry. My Harry. I'm so sorry. So sorry we wasted all that time. I wanted to be friends back in first year, but I was too stubborn. Too stuck in my father's world. I'm sorry we lost so much time." Tears fell like spring rain.

"It's okay, Draco." Harry reached up to pet Draco's hair and offered a weak smile. "You were caught in your world. I was lost in mine."

"Draco," Pansy called over to him in a soft voice. Draco squeezed Harry's hand and then with reluctance released it.

"What?" Draco asked, hoping that Pansy had the answer. He wiped at his face before he could look her in the eyes.

"To my knowledge, he isn't dying," she said. Draco groaned in relief. "However, something is definitely wrong. His magic is spiking and diving and I think that…" she stopped and cleared her throat. "I think that once he levels out, that either he will be drained of all magic or his mind will be completely blown. It's wrecking havoc with him. The plant's extract is trying to put a balance to his faculties while the pile of curses on him is actively working against it. They are tearing him apart." She rubbed along Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, but now is the time to get that ritual from him. We might not get another chance."

That was his Pansy, forever cold and heartless and always on task.

Draco nodded and slowly turned away from her. He felt like a ghost, outside of his body watching this hell descend upon somebody else, not him.

"Harry." His hand sought Harry's and they gripped each other. "I need…" he sniffed, then coughed and tried again. "I need to know the ritual. The one to stop Lucius."

And Harry nodded in understanding and a sob escaped Draco's lips at the selflessness of this wonderful man. "Good idea," he said. "I need a parchment and a quill." Then he squeezed his eyes shut, a grimace contorting his face. "Paper," he urged.

Draco jumped from his chair and grabbed a quill and parchment off his desk. Notes from his last potion attempt to cure Harry filled half of it, but he ripped that worthless scrap away and gave Harry the remaining length.

With effort, Harry propped himself up on an elbow and began scribbling. He drew out a sigil along with some wand movements and a long litany of words. "You need to draw the sigil on the floor where you are performing the spell," he said panting for breath. "Then just cast the spell. It clears the mind of influences. Useful spell, that." After the effort, he fell back down to the table and closed his eyes.

"If…" he took in a deep breath. "If you can cast this spell and pry into Lucius' mind with Legilimancy, you can crack it from the source. Essentially cast it into his mind. Then everyone will be cured. I could never get close to him. Never close enough…" his words trailed off and Harry stopped speaking.

"Harry!" No response. "Oh Merlin, no," he sobbed.

"Draco," Pansy pulled him away where he'd thrown himself over Harry's body. "He's just resting. You can't do anything here. Go do something useful. I'll watch him. You go cure some people. Go stop your father."

* * *

Feeling useless by Harry's side, that is exactly what Draco did. It was as simple as turning himself into the nearest Auror, telling the man to inform his father he was ready for his forgiveness. The words felt bitter, like spring greens, on his tongue, but he said them all with Malfoy pomposity and his father, blind and so drunk on his own power that he never saw Draco as a threat, welcomed him.

He and Draco faced each other, sizing the other up in the Minister's plush office. An oversized landscape of glacial mountains hung on the wall behind the Minister's desk. "I was hoping we wouldn't always be at ends, Draco. I have a place for you by my side. I only ask, what changed your mind?" his father asked, tapping a manicured, yet still masculine, nail on the back of his leather chair.

"You killed my fiancée. You must realize, one does not easily forgive these things," Draco said. He knew he couldn't come back complacent or his father would be suspicious. And he needed to keep the man talking.

"She wasn't good enough for you. I hated to see you waste yourself on someone of her… kind," said Lucius, and Draco was shocked he didn't outright say Mudblood. Perhaps he didn't think he had Draco tamed after all.

Draco paced all over the office as he spoke, distracting his father with words. As he walked, he laid a trace of sand along the wooden floor, laying down the sigil Harry had drawn for him.

"I realize that now, father. But you handled the entire situation poorly. Surely you see that." He stopped, the symbol was complete and now all that was left was the spell. "Scotch?" he asked, looking at the service to the side. "Perhaps it would ease our… reconciliation." He held his father's gaze and they studied each other until Draco lowered his eyes in recognition of his father's superiority.

Lucius nodded, smiling at his prodigy of a son who had returned to him. He turned his back on Draco as he poured the drinks. A sign of trust he would soon pay for. "I must say," he said, "I was beginning to lose hope, though I was impressed with some of your strategy. The manor was a terrible loss, however. That, my son, was a waste." He lifted the drinks and turned towards Draco, who'd finished the last swoop of his wand and then drove his mind into his father's.

_"Legilimens."_

So caught off guard was the Minister, that he dropped the glasses and they shattered against the floor. The amber liquid ran into the cracks between wood planks, filling the shallow troughs as Draco filled his father's mind and broke down the charm Lucius had so carefully constructed.

With a scream, Lucius clutched at his head, digging his fingers into his temples so hard, they looked like they might slip through the skin, straight into his brain. To his knees he fell and he leaned forward, a single hand holding him up.

"Draco, my son," he wheezed as if years had been stolen from him.

"You no longer have any claim to me, old man," Draco said, standing tall and looking down on his broken father.

Lucius looked up, shocked. His eyes, filling with red veins, narrowed. "You give up everything: the name, the money, the prestige?"

"No father. I don't. You did. You did a long time ago."

Draco slowly stepped away as his once elegant father sputtered and demanded, begged and threatened.

From the corridor outside, Aurors were running towards the office at the Minister's cries.

Draco jumped from the window and with a Spider Stick charm climbed to the roof, leaving the confusion behind. He could have killed him. Right there, his father was at his mercy. But he didn't do it. He could only think Harry would have been disappointed if he had. It was early evening and it had been a very long day. He faced the sun hovering over the horizon and let the moment take him away.

"Christine," he said quietly to the evening, a benediction. "I owed you. My soul owed you and though I will always cherish your name and your memory, you long ago left this place in my heart where only vengeance has lied. Now I have avenged you and you can finally rest. I owed you that and no more."

He lifted his face up to the darkening sky as alarms filled the air. People were emerging from buildings, milling out in the street like lost spirits. "Now I turn away on this past I've been living. I can't hide here anymore. There are other places to which I am bound." And with his vow spoken, he returned to Harry.

* * *

"Potter, were you really mad?" Draco asked as he held him in his arms. He'd been holding him for so long his arms were tired, but he kept holding him because he'd promised he would never let go.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, frail and empty of magic. Days had passed, and though Harry was still physically weak, the fog of his brain has cleared completely. Sadly, the combination of cure and curse had destroyed his magic, but his life was still intact and in Draco's mind, that was a pure miracle.

"I think you've always been a little touched." He kissed him on the forehead.

"Well, there you go then," Harry said with soft laugh and Draco squeezed him tight. Harry was his and Harry was here. Maybe wishes did come true.

35


End file.
